HTLJ: Salt of the Earth
by Arianna18
Summary: When Iolaus makes a promise to a dying stranger, he has no idea what the Fates have in store.


_Disclaimer: This story is not intended to violate any copyrights held by MCA, Universal Studios, Renaissance Pictures or any other entity involved in the making of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys. _

Acknowledgement: I want to thank Pythia for bringing me the outline for this story when she arrived in August... having drafted it on the airplane. She's wonderful at coming up with original story ideas...and I write fast. I hope I've done justice to the story she had in mind. She's also given me several more ideas, which we talked about at length during her visit...so, you'll be seeing more stories in the next few weeks!

The traveler had looked like easy pickings, alone on the forested hill road, driving an empty wagon with a team of two horses. The bandits assumed he'd sold whatever he had been carrying, which meant his moneybelt should be full. He was on the road toward Naphthlion, maybe heading to the port. Middle-aged, graying hair and beard, he didn't look to be in great condition; carrying a knife but not a sword, he wouldn't put up much resistance. Should be a quick business. Ambush him, take his money, kill him if he fought back, and even if he didn't. The horses and wagon would bring a fair price.

The dozen or so bandits hid themselves in the shadows under and behind the trees and bushes along both sides of the road until the wagon rolled along the road between them. Then they swarmed out from the trees, surrounding the wagon, brandishing swords and shouting to the traveler to draw up and hand over his money.

The traveler cried out in alarm and tried to whip the horses to greater speed to get past, but one of the bandits grabbed onto the lead horse's bridle and held it firm. The horses, confused and skittish, neighed shrilly, and tried to rear up, kicking out at the men who surrounded them. One of the bandits, a large, mean looking man dressed in black leather with a red bandanna around his throat, reached up and dragged the traveler down from the wagon.

"What do you want?" stammered the traveler, terrified by what was happening, and even more of what was likely to happen. He'd heard the roads weren't safe for lone travelers, but he'd been in a hurry, lacking the time to wait for others to be passing the same way. Had he kept to the original schedule, he would have passed this way yesterday. But, he'd gotten caught up in games of chance in the last town. He'd been lucky, more than doubling what he'd earned selling his goods. Delighted by the run of good luck, especially since he normally had a discouraging tendency to lose, he had passed up an opportunity to travel with a group of merchants in order to gamble for as long as possible, after all, he didn't have to be at the port until this afternoon. By the time he had to leave, those he might have traveled with were long gone. So, flush with his victory at cards, he'd trusted to Fortune to see him safely on his way.

But she had let him down.

It was the traveler's cries of alarm, and the sound of the frenzied horses, which drew the attention of two men walking through the woods, taking a shortcut over the hills to Argos. With one quick look at one another, they were off and running toward the confrontation playing out on the hill road. By the time they got there, the bandits were laughing as they shoved the traveler from one to another, like cats playing with a mouse, enjoying his terror, reveling in their power over his life and death.

The ambushers were not expecting to be ambushed. There weren't many who had either the skill or the courage to take them on. The sudden arrival of the big, well muscled man in their midst, tossing them about like so much flotsam, took them by complete surprise, for about three seconds, and then they were fighting back. It was only one man, or so they thought, until the second arrived like a whirlwind, spinning and lashing out with feet and fists, shouting and laughing. It was the laughter they remembered when it was over, and decided the guy had to have been a little crazy.

A roughclad brigand grunted at the unexpected elbow which lashed back at him as he tried to jump on the tall, well-muscled man who had appeared from out of nowhere. Doubling over, the outlaw found himself grabbed and thrown over the big man's shoulder, to crash into a comrade, carrying them both down to the hard packed earth of the road. The tall man cast a quick look at the shorter blond warrior who had raced into the melee behind him and grinned to see his partner spin to land a double kick against a much larger opponent, driving the man back and down into the dust. Two more were coming at the blond from behind, only to find he had dropped beneath their reach and was rolling, knocking them from their feet. Before they could recover, the small whirlwind was back up on his feet and had smashed their heads together, knocking them out.

Turning back to his own attackers, the taller of the two heroes grabbed the closest bandit and threw him up into the trees, then strong armed another coming at him from the side, knocking him cold. His hair flew out as he spun in a broad circle, lashing out with one powerful leg, sending another bandit flying to crash against the empty wagon. The smaller, ragged looking warrior had bounded onto the shoulders of an outlaw and elbowed the man savagely at the base of his neck, sending him crashing unconscious to the ground. Then he dropped to one knee to catch up a sword, swinging it up and back to block a hard sweeping slash of a sword by a man who had tried to sneak up from behind. As soon as the bandit raised his blade for a new attack, the blond warrior swiveled on one foot, coming up and around to duel with the overconfident outlaw who had pegged the smaller man as an easy target; he was about to learn how wrong he had been.

Tempered iron clashed and rang in the clearing, men shouted...and the traveler rallied, encouraged and emboldened by the sudden, unexpected arrival of the heroes who had turned the tide against the outlaws, driving them back and away from their intended victim. Grabbing up a sword dropped by one of the outlaws, he swung it about, but landed few blows; clearly, he was no warrior. The horses shied and lashed out with hooves, neighing wildly in panic at the violence and scent of blood which surrounded them.

The tall man spotted another armed bandit closing in on his partner, who was concentrating on the swordsman in front of him, unaware of the danger of the thrusting sword which was about to impale him from behind. "Duck!" the tall man yelled, in warning. Needing no more, the blond dropped to the ground to roll away. The two outlaws, unable to break their lunging momentum, impaled one another and, after a surprised and bitter pause, they toppled to the ground.

"Thanks!" called the small warrior with a grin, before spinning to his feet to engage yet another foe. "How many of these guys are there?" he called to his partner, as he battled on. The big man took a quick look around and shrugged, calling back with a grin, as he decked yet another bandit, "Enough for a good workout!" The blond snorted at the response, as he spun and lashed out with a flying kick, driving another bandit to his knees, then slugged him, knocking his adversary out cold. Making a face as he shook out his left fist, he spared a quick glance for the traveler, saw that he was holding his own, and had to quickly duck and spin to block another blade with his sword.

The fight raged for half an hour before the outlaws finally broke and ran, dragging wounded comrades with them, disappearing into the surrounding forest where they had earlier lurked in ambush. But, they claimed a price before they went. The blond had seen the traveler fall just moments before, taken by a flying knife neither he, nor his partner, were close enough to block. The bandit's knife had buried itself deep in his chest. The traveler looked down at it, surprised, then crumpled to the ground. Dropping onto his knees on the dusty road beside the stricken man, the blond gently rolled him onto his back, but a quick inspection of the wound revealed the hopelessness of the situation. The traveler was dying.

Gasping for breath, fighting the pain, the man grabbed the blond's purple patchwork vest, desperately pleading for help...not for himself, but for the family he'd left behind. "Please," he demanded, "you must help me."

"Easy," murmured the warrior, "save your strength...."

"No!" the man gasped and coughed with his effort to speak, grimacing against the pain which burned within him. "Money belt...take to wife Argentia...on Yiaros."

"Don't worry," the blond soothed the man, seeing his eyes cloud, the light in them fade. The warrior held the dying man tightly, supporting his shoulders to ease his breathing, gripping one hand, giving the only support and comfort he could in these last moments.

"Promise," gasped the man a final time, as his hand lost its strength, and let loose the grip he had on the warrior's vest.

"I promise," were the last words the stranger heard, as he relaxed into Celesta's arms. The blond warrior bit his lip as he shook his head sadly, then gently closed the man's eyes before laying him back upon the ground.

The blond looked up at his partner, who had come to stand beside him. "He's gone."

The tall warrior, hands on his leatherclad hips, shook his head with regret, deeply sorry they had been unable to save the stranger from his attackers. A slight frown on his brow, he murmured, "We'll need to try to find out who he was, where he was going. There'll be family, somewhere."

Standing, the blond replied, "He told me. His wife's name is Argentia, and she lives on Yiaros. Help me get him into the back of the wagon."

The two men lifted the body of the man they had fought to help, and carefully laid him on the wagonbed. The blond pulled open the man's shirt, to reveal the money belt underneath, untied it and pulled it from the man's body. The pouch was surprisingly heavy. Whatever the stranger had been selling, it had brought a good price. He looked up to catch the puzzled look in his partner's eyes. "He asked me to take this to his wife. I promised him...."

"Iolaus," Hercules replied quietly, "we can send this to her. King Theron is expecting us."

Iolaus narrowed his eyes as he looked down along the road, then swung his glance back up to his partner. "I _promised_ him, Herc. Look, you don't really need me to deal with Theron's problem. He just wants advice on the security for the upcoming annual trade talks. I can go to Yiaros and meet you back in Corinth. I should be back in a couple weeks at most...."

Hercules studied his partner for a moment, gazed down at the dead man, and nodded. Iolaus was right, they weren't both needed in Argos, and Hercules knew Iolaus hadn't been enthusiastic about the mission to begin with. Diplomatic negotiations, and the machinations of court politics, left him restless and bored. Someone was waiting for this man's return, and they deserved to know what had happened to him, that his last words were of concern for his family. "Alright, how will you get there?"

Iolaus shrugged. "I can get a ship at Naphthlion, work my passage. I'll take the bodies of the dead bandits to the magistrate in town, then I'll sell the wagon and the horses, and take that money as well to his family."

Hercules looked around at the silent forest, wondering how far the outlaws had run. "I'll go with you, part of the way at least, until we're out of these hills. I can double back to Argos...."

Iolaus smiled up at his friend, understanding Herc's concern that the outlaws might still be a threat, and agreeing with him. "Good," he said, as he turned with his partner to pick up the bodies of the three outlaws who had also died that day. Then Iolaus walked around the wagon and climbed up onto the box. Taking the reins, he slapped the horses gently, starting them on their way along the road. Hercules walked along side, wondering about the stranger and why the Fates had chosen this lonely road for his final journey. He shook his head ruefully; there was never an answer to the question of 'why', but at least they'd stopped the outlaws from stealing the man's wealth. It was probably all his family would have for their own survival. Glancing up at his partner, Hercules thought how lucky that family was. There weren't many men who would make, or keep, such a promise to a dying stranger.

Two hours later, they were approaching the seaport of Naphthlion. Iolaus pulled up the horses at the crossroads, and grinned down at his partner. "Well, this is your road to Argos. You know, Herc, I hate to leave you to take care of the security review on your own."

Hercules shook his head, smiling back up into the laughing blue eyes, "Yeah, sure, about as much as you hate rabbit stew."

Iolaus laughed, "Yeah, about that much. Look, just don't get into any trouble without me there to watch your back, okay?"

Hercules cocked an amused brow. "_Me_? You're the one who attracts trouble like flowers attract bees. I'm never sure it's safe to let you loose on your own!"

Iolaus shook his head in mock dismay. "You wound me, Hercules, you know it's never my fault! And, it's not like I go looking for trouble. Besides, trust me, I doubt there is much trouble for me to get into on a small island in the middle of the sea!"

Hercules laughed as he looked toward the sea. "Oh, I trust you, alright," he replied with a chuckle, "I trust you to _rise_ to any occasion, even on a small island. Just promise me you'll first find out if the next pretty face who catches your eye has brothers, a husband or a father to take exception to your adventurous ways, _before_ you get into trouble!"

Iolaus snorted at his friend's teasing. "I'll be good, I promise!"

Hercules grinned as he raised an amused brow. Iolaus, catching the look, and realizing his words could be taken in more than one way, snickered, then clarified, "I mean, I'll behave myself...stay out of trouble, not start any fights, avoid monsters...you know, be a dull and boring kinda guy!"

Now, it was Herc's turn to snort, "And pigs fly!"

They laughed easily, comfortable together, but then Hercules sobered as he thought of the men lying in the back of the wagon. Iolaus never made a promise he didn't intend to keep. His eyes might be dancing with laughter, but his words were meant to reassure. He knew Hercules tended to worry too much whenever he was out of sight for long, even though Herc knew Iolaus was quite capable of taking care of himself. Herc patted the neck of one of the horses as he looked up at Iolaus, "Okay, buddy, have a good trip. I'll see you in Corinth in a couple weeks." With one last smile and a casual wave, Hercules turned and headed along the road back up into the hills toward Argos. Iolaus watched him go for a long moment, then slapped the reins of the horses, urging them along into the town.

Iolaus turned over the bodies of the bandits to the local magistrate, and was pleasantly surprised to receive an unexpected bounty. He then sold the horses and wagon to the local hostler. Iolaus left the stranger's body there until it could be picked up later and taken to the ship he hoped to find to take them to Yiaros. Adding the dinars to those in the money belt, Iolaus stored it safely in his pack. Slinging it over his shoulder, the warrior ambled down to the port, intent on finding passage to Yiaros.

He wasn't all that surprised to find a ship which was ready to sail on the evening tide. The stranger had been heading this way and had no doubt expected to catch this same vessel. She was a double masted merchant ship, built to transport cargo efficiently, but designed as well for speed and stability in stormtossed, heavy seas. It didn't take Iolaus long to identify the ship's captain, a burly, sunblackened, middle-aged man sensibly dressed in loose fitting, weathered, cotton shirt and pants, his feet bare...the better to grip a pitching deck. Iolaus explained his mission, and arranged to have the stranger's body collected from the stable, then sounded out the captain about the possibility of working his way to Yiaros.

The captain, a man named Aneas, shook his head sadly when he heard Iolaus' tale. "Sounds like Tomas...I was expecting him this afternoon...his wife's name is Argentia. It's a sad business."

Iolaus nodded. "He died fighting, and his last concerns were for his family. I promised to let them know what had happened to him." Iolaus paused for a moment, letting a hopeful look come over his face before continuing, "I was hoping to be able to work my passage."

Aneas gazed down at the slight, but well muscled, rumpled but confident, warrior. He was impressed with the clear gaze which met his own, and impressed as well that this man was keeping a promise to a dying stranger. A promise which required him to work passage to a far island, to return the man's body, and his final messages to a family he didn't know. Not an ordinary man, but a man the captain might be glad to count as one of his crew...a man he suspected it would be worth knowing better. But, he only looked away, to call to one of his sailors to go for Tomas' body. Turning back to Iolaus, he asked, "You have much experience at sea?"

Iolaus grinned. "Yeah, some. I sailed with the Argonauts, and I'm at home in the rigging."

"The Argonauts? Well then, you'll know my old friend, Jason," the captain said with an appreciative smile. "How is the former King of Corinth these days?"

Iolaus chuckled. "Jason's doing great! He married my best friend's mother last year and I've never seen him happier."

Aneas nodded again, taking this in. He knew whom Jason had married. "Your best friend? King Iphicles or Hercules?"

"Now, do I look like someone who would be a _King's_ best friend?" Iolaus responded with a laugh, as he cast a rueful glance down at his dusty and tattered clothing.

Aneas laughed with him. Slapping Iolaus on the shoulder, he replied, "No, lad, you don't, but, then, I've learned not to make judgments based on short acquaintance. Still, I'd guess that means you're Iolaus, a _demigod's_ best friend."

Startled, Iolaus nodded. Despite his long friendship with Hercules, despite having been the big guy's partner for most of his life, he wasn't used to people so readily knowing his name. Aneas chuckled at the look. "Like I said, lad, Jason is an old friend. I've heard his stories of you and Hercules for years. Welcome aboard, Iolaus, I'm glad to have you on the crew. You can stow your pack belowdecks, and as soon as Stanos is back with Tomas' body, we'll cast off."

"Aye, sir!" Iolaus responded with a grin, then headed forward to the hatch which led below.

* * *

Hercules arrived in Argos not long after Iolaus set sail on the Windspirit. King Theron, a short, round, cheerful man with a shock of white hair, was expecting him, and greeted him warmly, casting a puzzled look behind Hercules, as if searching for someone. "Welcome, Hercules! I've been looking forward to seeing you, but, wasn't Iolaus supposed to be coming with you?"

Hercules smiled at the warm welcome, then, his face sobering, he explained, "We ran into some trouble on the way here...bandits attacked a lone traveler on the hill road."

"Iolaus is alright, isn't he...he wasn't hurt?" Theron was fond of the feisty blond warrior and was alarmed to think he might have been injured.

"No," Herc shook his head reassuringly, "Iolaus is fine...but the traveler was killed. Just before he died, he asked Iolaus to take the money he was carrying to his wife on Yiaros, so Iolaus has headed to Naphthlion to catch a ship to the island."

King Theron nodded, relieved to know Iolaus was fine, and unsurprised that the warrior had undertaken such a mission for a stranger. "King Albion, from Yiaros, will be arriving later this week for the trade talks. If Iolaus' mission goes well, he may be able to return at the same time."

"I'm sure everything will go fine...it's a simple errand, though a sad one," Hercules replied, looking around the hall, wanting to get started with his own mission. Argos was a big place and it would take a while to inspect the whole fortress. He looked back at Theron with a smile. He liked this old King. He was a fair man, and a wise ruler.

Theron looked up at the demigod who towered over him, then slapped his shoulder collegially. "Well, I'm glad you're here, and I am anxious for you to take a look at our security measures, and to let me know what else we need do!"

With these words, Theron led Hercules from the reception room, calling for his Captain of the Guard, to arrange a tour of his fortifications and a briefing on the security precautions they were instituting to safeguard the lives of ten fellow Kings from surrounding states in Greece and from a number of islands.

* * *

The two-day sail across the sea to Yiaros was smooth and uneventful. The skies remained clear, the wind light and the sea calm. Iolaus spent much of his time regaling his fellow crew members with stories of his adventures with Hercules...tales of monsters and warlords, and gods who had posed one threat or another... or needed a favour or two. His good spirits were catching, with the result that more laughter than usual rang across the open sea, rising on the wind.

Aneas came to like the small, blond warrior and understood why Jason had always spoken so well of him. He found it interesting that, while Iolaus told a good tale, and happily cast himself in exciting roles, he did not relate any of the stories of his truly amazing personal heroics...tales Aneas had heard from Jason. The captain also noted that Iolaus did his work competently, without complaint, often lending a hand to other crew members without needing to be asked. Altogether, the captain was quite pleased to have Iolaus as a member of his crew, even if only for a short time.

The Windspirit sailed into the harbour at Yiaros in late afternoon. Aneas promised to make arrangements for Tomas' body, and gave Iolaus directions to the widow's house, halfway up the side of the mountain in a small village. No more than three miles to the east of the main town, it would not be more than an hour's walk. Iolaus grabbed his pack and headed through the larger town of Yiaros to follow the well traveled dirt road, which led around the island and up into the hills. He would meet the widow, deliver his message and the money, then find an inn for the night. He looked forward to getting a bath and sleeping on a bed which did not roll beneath him. Aneas had agreed to take him back to Naphthlion, and the ship was scheduled to depart the next afternoon.

Iolaus grinned as he strode along the road. He'd been lucky to meet up with Aneas. This trip was only going to take a week, not the two he had originally thought might be necessary. By the time he got back, Herc would be finished with the security review in Argos, so, maybe they could kick back and relax. Iolaus knew of a couple very good fishing streams between Argos and Mycenae.

Yiaros wasn't a large island, just the main town and two or three smaller villages. Iolaus had never been there before, and he enjoyed the walk through the town, which seemed quite prosperous. But, he found when he nodded pleasantly at the islanders he passed that they seemed very cool in response, gazing at him with an aloofness which bordered on hostility. He just shrugged to himself, reflecting that islanders were often a closed and insular lot because they lived in sheltered, small communities. He didn't much care if they weren't particularly friendly, he wasn't going to be staying long. However, he did appreciate the bright grin, which lit the face of a pert little pixie, about nine or ten years old he figured, as he walked by her on the narrow road as she headed into town. Well, at least the kids seemed pleasant enough!

In less than an hour, he had found the small village where Argentia lived, and after asking directions in the village square, he arrived at her small, whitewashed, thatched cottage a short time later. It looked like it would accommodate no more than two rooms, and maybe a loft. There was a small stable in the back, and a goat was tethered in the yard. The place looked a little rundown. Iolaus sighed. It was bound to deteriorate further now that Tomas would not be coming home to see to its maintenance.

Iolaus paused a moment before knocking on the cottage door. He had not hesitated to take on this task, but he was not looking forward to telling Argentia she was now a widow. Fishing in his pack, he found the money belt, and he held it in his right hand as he knocked on the door.

The woman who answered was thin, and looked tired. Her dark, silver streaked hair, bound up in a neat bun that morning, was now falling in wisps around her weathered face and down her neck. Her shift was plain, nondescript beige, patched near the hem. She gazed up at him suspiciously, opening the door only enough for her to see him.

"Yes?" she waited, with pursed lips and a slight frown.

Iolaus didn't blame her for her caution, or the suspicion in her sharp brown eyes. She was alone, and he was a man she had never seen before. However, he didn't want to just blurt out that her husband was dead while standing awkwardly in front of the half-opened door. "I'm looking for a woman named Argentia," he began.

"I'm Argentia, what do you want?" she answered, the look of suspicion deepening in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have bad news. Your husband...." Iolaus began.

Argentia cut him off with a scathing tone. "What's Tomas been up to now? Has he gotten himself into trouble? Gods," she sighed, resigned, "he's the most undependable lout...I knew it was a mistake to send him off on his own to the mainland."

Iolaus winced at her words and the tone. Apparently, this had not been the happiest of marriages. Ah well, maybe it meant she wouldn't be all that upset by the news he was bringing to her.

Taking a breath, he launched into the story. "Tomas was ambushed by bandits not far from Naphthlion... and I'm sorry to have to tell you that he was killed. Aneas, the captain of the Windspirit, says he knows you and he's making arrangements to have Tomas' body brought to you later today...."

"Killed?" she replied, her eyes widening in shock, her face suddenly pale. She gripped the door tightly, as if she was afraid she might fall without its support. "But...I don't understand...."

Iolaus gazed at her with profound sympathy, understanding that such messages were hard to comprehend, hard to take in. His voice gentle, he continued slowly, "He was attacked by outlaws. He fought bravely, but, it wasn't enough...."

She frowned again as she stared at him. "Why have you come to tell me this?"

Holding out the moneybelt, Iolaus explained, "His last words were of concern for you. He asked me to bring this to you."

Her eyes brightened noticeably when she saw the moneybelt, and the way it bulged with coins. One hand darted out to grab the pouch from his hand. Then, she turned and slammed the door in his face.

Iolaus took a halfstep back at the unexpectedness of the slamming door. She'd not bothered to ask his name, hadn't bothered to even thank him for having done as her husband requested. Iolaus gazed at the door for a moment, then shrugged. Muttering, "You're welcome," he turned to head back through the small village, and down the long hill toward the port town. It would be almost dusk by the time he got back. He'd find himself a room, and a meal, then turn in early. So far, Iolaus hadn't seen much of Yiaros which seemed worth further exploration...it'd been awhile since he'd been in as unfriendly a place. He was beginning to think that the sooner he was on his way home, the better.

In the morning, he'd head back to the ship and see if he could be useful with the loading of its supplies and cargo. Aneas had said something about salt...apparently, it was the principal product of this island.

He'd barely entered the boundaries of the main town, when a young child, looking back over her shoulder, ran right into him. "Hey, easy, little one!" he said with a laugh, as he reached to steady her.

She looked up at him with shadowed green eyes, which lightened as soon as she recognized him. "I saw you before...you were heading out of town."

"Yeah, I saw you, too," Iolaus grinned down at the darkhaired, apple cheeked, pixie. "My name's Iolaus, and I had to visit someone in the next village."

She gave him a bright smile. She knew she wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, but there was something about him that made her feel safe somehow. It was the light and laughter in his eyes, his warm smile...and the gentle but impersonal touch as he steadied her on her feet, then let her go. She'd been certain someone was following her in the shadows, and she was glad of a friendly face.

"My name's Lisane, and I live over there," she said, pointing to a sparkling clean whitewashed, thatched cottage with bright blue shutters. "Where are you from?"

"Pleased to meet you, Lisane," Iolaus responded with a smile, and a bow a princess would approve. He winked at the child when she giggled at his antics. "I sailed here on the Windspirit from Greece, and I'm heading back to the mainland tomorrow. Could you tell me where to find a good inn for the night?"

Lisane nodded, pointing along the road behind her. "Just around the corner, there's an inn...but, the food's not all that good there. My Dad says the tavern, The Blue Dolphin, on the other side of town, by the harbour, has very good food...and I've heard him say the ale there is 'just the thing for a parched throat," she grinned more broadly as she mimicked her father's deep enthusiastic tones.

Iolaus laughed, "Sounds like exactly the kind of place I'm looking for! Thanks."

Anything further he might have said was cut off when a woman clad in a faded green chiton dashed out of the nearby cottage, and grabbed the child none too gently by the arm, while casting suspicious glances up at Iolaus. "Lisane! I've told you never to talk to strangers! You come in right now...supper is ready."

Iolaus tried to intervene, "Lisane was just giving me directions...." but the woman just stormed away, half-dragging her daughter with her. Lisane cast one quick glance over her shoulder, gave Iolaus a little wave, then turned away as she was hauled into the safety of her home.

Iolaus sighed and shook his head as he grumbled under his breath, "What is it with the people on this island? They could do with a few lessons in charm, once they've learned something about courtesy." Lisane was the only person he'd met so far who had been pleasant and helpful.

'Ah well,' he thought with a shrug, 'time to find a room for the night.' Following Lisane's directions, Iolaus found the inn, arranged for a room, dropped off his pack and sword, then headed across town to the tavern by the harbour.

* * *

Hercules had spent three days working with the Captain of the Guard, Julian, to ensure the security arrangements in Argos were complete and ready for the trade talks to begin in three days' time. Julian was a competent man, who could not completely hide his resentment at having his work second-guessed by someone brought in to oversee his efforts, even if the 'someone' was the famous Hercules.

Herc was aware of the Captain's resentment, and he understood it. The man had done well, and there was little Hercules could recommend to improve on the arrangements already made. Rival leaders, and their staff, would be assigned suites of rooms at opposite ends of the palace. Extra guards would be posted at all times, to provide escorts for the guests and to oversee the security of the hall where the talks would be held...and each of the guards was personally known and trusted by the Captain. There would be no opportunity for any spies or assassins to infiltrate the ranks of his men. Guards at the gate had been thoroughly briefed on who was arriving, and how to ensure the guests were who they claimed to be. Staff in the kitchens had been coached on ensuring the security of food preparation to offset the chance of any attempts at poisonings. Weapons were inventoried, repaired if required, and secured in lockers. Extra sentries had been assigned to keep watch from the towers and to patrol the palace grounds.

The most important artifacts and valuable trinkets and baubles had been gathered from the palace's public rooms and stored away for safekeeping. "It's not that Theron doesn't trust his fellow Kings," the Captain explained, when Hercules noted the absence of several treasures, "but neither does he wish to unduly tempt them, or their servants."

Hercules hid a smile at the discreet response. He'd figured that, given the purpose of the meeting was to negotiate trade agreements, Theron didn't wish to appear too rich, lest he have to pay higher tariffs.

Hercules commended the Captain and had little more to offer. He suggested that the visiting dignitaries and their parties be requested to surrender any weapons they had brought with them for the duration of the talks. He also recommended that the guest chambers be given one last inspection before each guest arrived, to ensure no unexpected and unwelcome tenants, like poisonous snakes or spiders, had taken up residence to give a memorable, if fatal, greeting to any guest who might be targeted for assassination. Finally, Herc verified that all food and drink would be 'in common'...that is, all would be served the same food, and wine and ale would always be taken from the same barrels, kegs, amphora and jugs, to lessen the possibility of targeted poisoning attempts.

At the end of his third day in Argos, Hercules stood in the courtyard of the fortress and cast a practiced eye around the area, and the walls. From where he stood, he could see the guards patrolling along the catwalk just below the top of the walls, and he could see the sentries on duty at the gates. He couldn't think of anything else that could be done to make the fortress more secure, or to safeguard the welfare of the royal guests and their parties. He turned to Julian with a pensive nod. "I think everything is as ready as we can make it, Julian. Let's let King Theron know," Hercules said as he gave Julian a friendly clap on the shoulder and the two of them turned to enter the castle.

King Theron was in his reception room, hearing grievances and petitions from the peasants and tradesmen who worked within his boundaries. When he saw Hercules and Julian enter the hall, he finished the last petition of the day, and waved them forward. Both men bowed their heads respectfully when they stood before the King.

"So, Hercules, how are the preparations coming along?" the King asked.

Hercules gave his friend a smile, and his expression was cheerful as he responded, "Your fortress and castle are ready, King Theron, as ready as we can make it. I must say, there was little for me to do. Julian has trained his men well, and he had the security arrangements well underway by the time I arrived. He's been very helpful to me, showing me what has been done, orienting me to the training and security precautions he has undertaken with the royal guards, and allowing me to make a few suggestions."

Julian cast a quick sideways glance at Hercules at these words, surprised by the unstinting praise the demigod was giving him and his men. Abashed, he looked at his feet for a moment, reflecting how unhappy he'd been to have the demigod foisted upon him. But, Hercules had been pleasant to work with, did not try to take over and his suggestions had been helpful. Julian realized he'd made the mistake of misjudging the hero before ever meeting him. Determined to make amends, he interjected when Hercules had finished his report, "Sire, Hercules is too modest. His ideas have been most helpful, and it has been reassuring to have someone with his expertise review our arrangements and validate them. I believe I have learned from the opportunity of working with him."

Herc hid his grin at these words, pleased that Julian was no longer irritated with his presence. The Captain of the Guards was a good man, and he served Theron well.

King Theron was well pleased with their reports. "Good! I believe all is in readiness, and we can expect the first guests to arrive two nights from now. Hercules, I would appreciate it if you would stay at least until the negotiations have begun."

Hercules had half expected the invitation, but still he hesitated for a moment before responding. He did not enjoy the diplomatic machinations of trade negotiations any more than Iolaus did, but he didn't have anywhere else to be. It was more than a week until he was supposed to meet Iolaus in Corinth. Also, he knew Iphicles was coming, and he would enjoy the chance to visit with his brother. With a smile, which included Julian, Hercules replied, "Thank you, I appreciate the invitation to stay for a few days. As you know, my brother will be one of the royal delegates, so, yes, I would like to stay and observe the talks for a day or two."

"Excellent!" cheered King Theron, standing and stepping down from his throne on the dais. "Come, it's late in the day. Let's retire to the garden and have a libation before dinner. Julian, you'll join us, of course," the King said, as he put a hand on Hercules' shoulder and looped his other arm around Julian's shoulders. He drew them from the room, across a hall bright with the rays of the setting sun through portals cut in the wall, then out into the garden. It was a warm afternoon, and bees were buzzing amongst the multicoloured blooms, which decorated the informal garden. Theron called for wine, while all three found seats on the benches placed along the path.

It would be a pleasant evening. Fortunately, from Hercules' perspective, Theron did not have any daughters. So, he could relax and enjoy himself. Over the next two days, there would be little for him to do and he planned to explore the forests around Argos, in part from a security perspective, but more just to enjoy the woodland. Everything was going well. There was absolutely no reason for the flutter of anxiety in his stomach. Puzzled, he reviewed the arrangements for the trade conference, and could find no cause for his sense of disquiet. Shrugging, he set the feeling aside, and entered into the banter between Theron and his trusted Captain of the Guards.

* * *

The tavern was murky with smoke from the poorly vented fire in the centre of the room. It was a busy evening, with sailors from the ships in port, and locals, all partaking of the good food and ale offered by the taverner. But, what should have been a warm and convivial atmosphere seemed almost tense. Whenever one of the sailors laughed at some amusing story told by one of their comrades, the locals would stare at them, not bothering to conceal their hostility. As Iolaus stood in the doorway, looking for a table and taking stock of the room, he wondered if anyone in Yiaros was pleasant, or if being miserable was their normal state of being. If so, he felt sorry for the child, Lisane, who seemed to have escaped the local propensity for rudeness.

Spotting a table in the shadows of the far corner of the room, Iolaus placed an order for ale and stew at the bar, then made his way through the crowded establishment. The shadows suited him just fine. Gregarious by nature, the people of Yiaros had managed to extinguish his normally good spirits. Unconsciously, Iolaus had adopted the slightly dangerous demeanor he affected whenever he was alone in a potentially hostile environment. He was only too well aware that his slight stature was a target for local bullies, and he had found over the years that hard eyes and a slightly aggressive stance discouraged most, if not all, of the idiots who might be tempted to test their manhood against his. He moved with the unconscious grace of a predatory cat stalking its prey. He was aware of the unfriendly eyes, which watched him cross the room. The atmosphere was such that he regretted having left his sword at the inn.

A weary barmaid brought his ale, sloshing half of it on the table as she set the mug down, along with a bowl of surprisingly fragrant stew, and freshly baked bread. Well, at least they knew how to cook on this island. Maybe the place had some potential after all. Iolaus surreptitiously watched the townsfolk as he ate, frowning in puzzlement at their distinctly hostile behaviour toward off-islanders. There was some mystery here, their behaviour just wasn't normal. Draining his mug, Iolaus decided he didn't really care if he ever understood the local issues. They could be as unfriendly as they wanted as far as he was concerned. He wasn't staying.

Finished with his meal, Iolaus decided not to linger in the tavern, but to head back to the inn and make an early night of it. He made his way through the crowded, smoky room to the bar, and had just dropped sufficient coins to cover the cost of his meal, when someone shoved into him, hard, from the side.

Not interested in starting a fight, Iolaus ignored the drunk who had lurched into him, but the bully was determined to make trouble. "Watch where y're goin'!" he slurred, as if it had been Iolaus who had bumped into him. Pretending he hadn't heard, Iolaus turned to leave, only to find his way blocked by another disreputable local. "Ain't ya goin' t'apologize?" the man demanded in a voice intended to intimidate, but which only succeeded in sounding slurred and sulky.

Iolaus looked up at the man who had accosted him, then threw a quick glance back at the man who had shoved him, and who had moved in even closer, reaching for an empty mug on the bar. The room had gone quiet as everyone waited to see if a fight would break out. Iolaus regarded the man who had challenged him with hard eyes. "I don't want any trouble," he said, his voice clear and firm.

The lout laughed unpleasantly. "Are ya afraid, runt?"

"No," Iolaus replied softly, a cold smile playing on his lips, his eyes holding their own threat of violence. "No, I'm not afraid...I just don't want to hurt you." These guys didn't know it, but they didn't stand a chance. Iolaus could handle them with both hands tied behind his back. Blissfully ignorant of the danger he was in, the bully laughed uproariously at this statement, as if the little guy could hurt him! The big man reached out to take Iolaus by the shoulder. He'd see who got hurt!

Realizing from the start of this confrontation that total avoidance of trouble was likely to be impossible, Iolaus had positioned himself for action. Sensing movement behind him, he jabbed an elbow hard into the solar plexus of the man who had crowded in close behind him, causing him to grunt in surprise and drop the mug he had been about to slam against the back of Iolaus' head. As the man behind him gasped for breath, Iolaus kneed the man in front of him, simultaneously breaking the man's grip on his shoulder with a hard downward jab of his elbow to the man's forearm. When his erstwhile assailant's head lowered in pain, Iolaus linked the fingers of both hands, and brought them down hard on the back of his assailant's neck, felling him to the ground. Whirling to confront the man behind him, who was recovering from the elbow jab, Iolaus blocked a punch, spun and locking both hands together, he hit the much larger man hard along his jawbone. The drunk's eyes unfocused and then he dropped to the floor.

His back to the bar, Iolaus surveyed the room to see if anyone else wanted to take him on. When no one offered, the warrior wished the bartender a pleasant 'good night' and then he left the silent tavern.

Outside, Iolaus stretched once, to relax muscles which had tensed in anticipation of battle. Turning, he ambled along the darkened street. The narrow, winding road was poorly lit by flickering torches on poles placed thirty feet apart. He'd made it across most of the town, and had almost reached the inn, when he heard a muffled cry nearby. Instantly alert, his head snapped up, and his eyes scanned the night, searching for the source of the sound. Someone was hurt, in trouble.

Spotting an alley ten feet to his left, Iolaus was loping silently to its entrance when he heard a sharp, short scream. Moving quietly, but quickly, into the mouth of the alley, it took a moment for him to identify the source of the cry. Toward the back of the lane, he made out a darker shadow which seemed to be kneeling over, and thrusting into, a small bundle on the ground...only the bundle was struggling. Iolaus shouted to the unknown assailant to back off, as he ran down the alley toward the man. Startled, the assailant looked up from his struggling victim, then he lunged to his feet, at the same time grabbing up the small victim and swinging her against the stone wall of the alleyway. A child's keening cry was cut off abruptly when her head hit the wall with a sickening thud, and she dropped in a heap to the ground.

Iolaus charged toward the unknown man, unable to make out his features in the murky darkness of the alley. The assailant was not about to hang around to make his identity known, and turning, he pulled down a number of crates stacked along the wall to block Iolaus' pursuit. The large man then raced out the back of the alley to disappear into the twisting lanes beyond. Iolaus jumped over the crates scattered in the alley, and paused at the end of the lane, but when he couldn't see where the man had gone, he turned back to check on the victim. It had sounded, and looked, like a child.

Careful, so as not to trip over the child in the dark, Iolaus made his way back to the limp bundle against the wall. Kneeling, he gently turned the child over, dismayed to see bruises in the dim light, and a deep, ugly compressed wound on the child's temple. Her clothing was ripped, almost torn from her small body. Iolaus swallowed hard in anger, realizing what the unknown man had done to this defenceless and innocent girl. The child whimpered and flinched at his touch, afraid her attacker had returned.

"Shh," murmured Iolaus, "he's gone...I won't let him hurt you anymore." He gathered the somehow familiar child into his arms, and when she opened her eyes, his breath caught in dismay. It was the little girl he had met earlier, the only resident of Yiaros who had been friendly or helpful. "Lisane," he whispered, his voice thick with concern, "who did this to you?"

Recognizing him, the child clung to him for protection, her small body trembling with fear and injury, her lips quivering as she tried hard not to cry. Iolaus held her tightly, trying to soothe her terror and her pain as he tenderly brushed her tousled, blood soaked hair back from her face. Her skin was clammy, and cold from shock...her breathing was shallow, uncertain. He was about to pick her up, to carry her to help, when he felt the small body shudder in his arms, and then go utterly still.

"Lisane!" he called to her, touching her face, seeking a pulse in her throat...but, there was nothing. She was gone.

Iolaus felt his heart twist in grief, and he groaned softly, unconsciously, as he again pulled the child tightly against his chest. Blinking back tears, he whispered to her spirit, his voice breaking, "Don't be afraid, Lisane. Celesta is kind and Hades will take good care of you...I promise. And there are other great kids there. Look for Aeson and tell him Uncle Iolaus says 'hello'...and, if you meet Anya, the little boy with her is my son."

Suddenly, the alley was lit by several torches, held by a crowd of men gathered at the far end of the alleyway. Iolaus turned to face them, lifting the child's body into his arms as he stood. "Lisane!" one man cried out, as he ran stumbling toward them, the others close behind him. Tears filled the man's eyes as he almost wrenched the child from Iolaus' arms, and realized the limp child was dead. "What have you done!" choked the man, in horror and grief. "You've killed my daughter!"

"No!" Iolaus responded, trying to remain calm in the face of the hostile eyes which surrounded him. "I saw someone assaulting her...I tried to save her!"

But, they weren't listening, didn't want to listen. Their grief and anger demanded vengeance. Two men grabbed Iolaus' arms, while another slammed a hard punch into his solar plexus. Iolaus grunted in pain, gasped, tried to resist, to explain. "Stop! I didn't do this!"

But, another grabbed his hair, pulling his head back, and the man in front of him punched him mercilessly in the face and body. Iolaus didn't want to hurt them, but they were out of control. He kicked out, sending the man in front staggering back, then he flipped backwards, pulling loose from the two who held him. He spun, hitting out, trying to clear a space, trying to get past them, and it seemed as if he might succeed, but there were too many of them, and he was handicapped by his desire to not hurt them. The sheer weight of their numbers, and their madness born of fury, bore him down to the ground, kicking and punching him, beating him with sticks, until one blow behind his left ear sent him spinning into oblivion.

If a squad of royal guards had not chosen that moment to pass through that end of town on their evening rounds, the men would have beaten Iolaus to death. As it was, the guards had to haul the men away from his battered body. When they'd heard the reason for the assault on the unconscious stranger, they understood the brutality and laid no charges against the local men. Instead, they dragged Iolaus, none too gently, to the prison near the palace, and threw him into a filthy, vermin ridden cell. There, they locked his wrists into shackles driven into the stone wall and left him in the dark. If he died there before morning, so much the better in their view. It would save the time and effort of the trial.

* * *

Iolaus gradually became conscious and found himself on the rough ground of a cold, damp cell. His arms were chained to the wall above his head. Suppressing a moan, he struggled to remember what had happened as he took stock of his injuries. His head felt as if a demon was hammering upon it, and his ribs burned along his right side. Cracked, probably, he decided when he noted there was no sharp pain when he breathed. Good...the last thing he needed was broken ribs. Nothing too serious, he concluded, closing his eyes and swallowing against a sudden attack of dizziness and nausea...well, except perhaps for a slight concussion. He'd had worse. As he struggled toward full consciousness, he thought he heard a child crying in the distance.

Memories returned, and he did groan then, when he thought of Lisane, of holding her while she died. Gods, the poor kid. She'd been so terrified, in so much pain. Such a sweet little thing. No one deserved to be abused so horribly, but it seemed somehow worse when the victim was an innocent, cheerful child. Iolaus felt a terrible rage build within his chest. He wanted to punish the man who had done this, wanted the cruel monster to suffer as the child had suffered...to feel fear, as she had felt fear.

As his mind cleared, and his awareness grew, Iolaus realized that his assailants thought *he was the beast who had assaulted and murdered the child. A wave of cold horror swept through him as he began to fully understand that he had no way to defend himself, no proof of innocence to offer. He was in trouble...big trouble. Gods, surely they wouldn't convict him on circumstantial evidence alone...the sentence could well be death.

But, staring into the darkness of his cell, Iolaus knew they could, and probably would, convict him of this heinous crime. He was a stranger, an easy target for their rage. Testing the chains, Iolaus tried to pull them from the wall, swearing in frustration when he only succeeded in badly chafing the skin of his wrists. There was no escaping this cell. He could only wait to see what the morning would bring. Maybe he'd get lucky, maybe there'd be another witness. Yeah and maybe pigs can fly.

* * *

The King was incensed when he heard the news the following morning. His realm was small and he knew most of his subjects personally. He'd certainly known Lisane...her father worked in the royal stables and the child had often played about the grounds. She'd been a bright, happy little girl, with a natural grace and warmth, pretty with curly dark hair and large, well lashed emerald green eyes. King Albion was sickened by what had been done to her, but his anger was muted somewhat by the knowledge that her assailant had been caught.

"Who did this?" he demanded, a heavy scowl projecting his anger.

"A stranger, sire. A man from Corinth, named Iolaus. The keeper of the nearby inn recognized him and has brought his belongings to us." The chamberlain waved toward a shabby pack and sword in scabbard which had been deposited in one corner. "The trial will be held later this morning."

The King nodded thoughtfully. "I wish I could attend the trial to signal my personal grief and outrage at this terrible crime, but I must leave with the tide. I'll take the man's possessions with me, to give to King Iphicles...I'll be seeing him at the trade talks in Argos. And, I'll let him know what I think of subjects who assault and murder innocent children." Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, "This has happened all too often these last few years...." Looking up, he continued, "Tell the magistrate I expect the usual punishment."

The chamberlain nodded. "As you wish, Sire," he murmured, as he withdrew from the room.

* * *

Hercules had awakened with a headache. His sleep had been restless and he felt tired and irritable. Deciding to get some fresh air, and spare others his foul mood, he had set out early to tramp through the woodlands around the fortress town of Argos. He jogged out of the town, and stepped up his pace as he headed across the fields toward the forest, hoping a bit of strenuous physical activity would use up his nervous energy. However, his sense of anxiety had not abated. If anything, his disquiet had increased, causing his muscles to tense, making him feel jittery.

Once into the cool, dim forest, he slowed his pace and took a deep breath of the fragrant air. As he ambled along narrow pathways, little more than animal trails, he again reviewed the last few days, trying to figure out what was bothering him, causing his 'antenna' to jangle. Herc grinned a little to himself at this thought, thinking about how Iolaus teased him about his almost psychic capacity to sense trouble. Whenever Herc said, 'I've got a bad feeling about this,' neither of them would necessarily know why, but both of them would increase their vigilance.

Hercules found himself high on a knoll, which overlooked the forest and gave a glimpse of the sea in the east. He wondered how Iolaus' mission was progressing. He should have reached Yiaros by now. With luck, he'd be on his way back in the next day or so. Hercules was about to turn away, to head back down into the forest, when he felt...what? A stab of fear? Dread? He rubbed the back of his neck as he stared out toward the sea, a slight frown on his face, and a flicker of worry in his eyes. He wondered if Iolaus was all right. Giving himself a shake, he decided he was being fanciful, and headed back through the forest to Argos.

But, he'd decided that if Iolaus wasn't back in the next five days, he find a ship to Yiaros. It was a nice time of year for a cruise, or, at least, that's what he'd tell Iolaus when his buddy gave him a hard time for coming after him. He'd feel a fool if nothing was wrong, but he didn't like to ignore it when he had a bad feeling...like the one he'd had since last night.

* * *

It was midmorning when the guards came to unlock his chains and haul him roughly from his cell. Iolaus' arms were numb from lack of circulation, and his head still pounded mercilessly. He staggered a bit when the guards pushed him forward toward stone steps cut into the wall of the prison. The world still tended to tilt and spin oddly, leaving him feeling nauseous. Yep, definitely a concussion. Rubbing his arms both to speed circulation and to ease the tingling, pins and needles effect as feeling returned to his limbs, Iolaus decided physical discomforts were probably the least of his problems. He stumbled up the stairs, and blinked at the sudden brightness of the day which assaulted his eyes when he was pushed out into a large courtyard, of hard baked earth.

He heard the angry murmurs and mumbles as he raised his head to see what looked like the whole population of the town arrayed around the walls of the prison yard. He felt another hard shove from behind, and moved to stand in front of a large man gowned in a blue robe, probably the magistrate. As his eyes scanned the gathered multitude, Iolaus found the man who had taken Lisane from him last night...her father. And beside him stood the woman he knew to be the little girl's mother. They stared at him with a bitter hate that was almost palpable.

"Iolaus of Corinth, you have been charged with the molestation and murder of the child, Lisane. What say you to these charges?" intoned the man in blue.

Iolaus pulled his eyes away from Lisane's parents, and looked up into the cold gaze of the magistrate. "I didn't hurt Lisane. I heard her cry out, and when I entered the alley, I saw a man bending over her, and she was struggling. I yelled at him to stop," Iolaus paused here a moment, an infinitely sad look on his face as he remembered, "he smashed her head against the wall, and ran off."

The magistrate studied Iolaus for a long moment. "What did this man look like?"

"I...I don't know. It was dark. He was tall, and heavily built, that's all I can tell you," Iolaus replied, giving the magistrate a considered look. "He'd be about your size, I think."

Grimacing at the implied similarities between himself and the man Iolaus claimed assaulted and murdered the child, the magistrate challenged him, "Why are you here on Yiaros?"

"Tomas, from the nearby village, was killed by bandits earlier this week. I brought his body and his belongings back to his wife, Argentia, yesterday afternoon," Iolaus explained.

The magistrate frowned. "Were you a friend of Tomas?" he asked.

"No. My friend and I arrived just as the ambush by the bandits had begun...we fought them off, but it was too late to help Tomas."

"Where is your 'friend' now?" asked the magistrate, his disbelief in Iolaus' story clear in his voice.

"Hercules carried on to see King Theron in Argos, who was expecting us, to oversee the security for a trades negotiation conference between a number of Kings from Greece and the islands," Iolaus explained, knowing it all sounded incredible.

The magistrate studied Iolaus' battered and ragged appearance with ill-disguised contempt. "You claim to be a friend of Hercules, and an adviser to King Theron. You really expect us to believe that? You also expect us to believe you came all this way to give the belongings of a stranger to a widow you had never met?" The magistrate's expression made it plain he thought it was more likely that Iolaus had been one of Tomas' murderers and had only come to see what more wealth he might extract from the surviving family members.

"Yes," Iolaus replied simply. "You can check out my story with Captain Aneas of the Windspirit...she's docked in your harbour, and with the widow, Argentia...I gave her Tomas' moneybelt yesterday."

The magistrate flicked his eyes toward one of the King's guard, who turned and left, presumably heading toward the docks. The official then looked at the crowd. "Does anyone here know or recognize this man, Iolaus?"

There was a slight scuffle across the yard, then two men stepped forward. Iolaus' eyes narrowed as he recognized the men from the tavern. "He started a fight with us last night, your honour. He attacked us for no good reason."

"That's not true!" Iolaus called out. "_You_ started the fight!"

"Silence!" commanded the magistrate as he glared at Iolaus. Iolaus rolled his eyes, and took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Losing his temper wouldn't help. This was bad...very bad.

"Can anyone else provide information on this fight, or substantiate the prisoner's claim that he did not start it?"

Iolaus' eyes darted around the crowd, searching for others he recognized from the night before. The taverner turned away from his gaze, unwilling to speak against townsmen who were regular customers. None of the sailors, who might have supported his story, were there. No one spoke.

The magistrate looked back at him. "It seems there is no one who can support your word. Is there anyone else here who knows this man?"

Lisane's mother stepped forward then. "I do," she said, her voice tight with tension, anger and grief. "I saw him talking with Lisane yesterday afternoon, trying to get friendly with her. He must have been planning to hurt her then!" Her voice had risen as she spoke, until she ended in a wail of hate and despair.

"I was just asking directions to the inn," Iolaus tried to explain, but no one was listening to him. He felt the crowd's fury build. They all believed him guilty, and there was nothing he could say which would change their minds. He tried to breathe slowly, to remain calm. Aneas would tell them a different story, would vouch for his character...he might still get out of this.

"Anyone else?" called the magistrate.

The innkeeper stood forward then, to give the simple facts. "He came into my inn yesterday afternoon, late, looking for a room for the night. Then he went out to find a meal. I didn't see him again. I've given his pack and sword to the King's men."

"Is that all?" the magistrate called out, scanning the crowd a last time.

Lisane's father stood forward then, deep lines of grief scoring his face, his eyes red from the tears which burned there. "Lisane had gone out for a few minutes after eating, to take a doll back to a friend. When she didn't come home, and wasn't at her friend's home, I rounded up my brothers and friends to look for her. Jax, Timor, Nicos, Martinus, Samus, Petros, Linus, Demetrius and I found this man holding my little girl's dead body in the alley not far from our home. There was no one else there...we saw no one else...he must be guilty..." his voice breaking, he concluded, "He killed her, damn him!" The men he had named crowded close behind him, nodding to support his words.

The murmur and rumble of the crowd grew along with its restlessness. They wanted vengeance. In their eyes, the prisoner was worse than a rabid animal.

Iolaus swallowed as he looked back at the magistrate. "I swear to you, I did not do this. I did not hurt Lisane," he said quietly, trying to keep the desperation he felt out of his voice.

The magistrate looked back at him for a long moment. Finally, he replied, "Iolaus of Corinth, you may be on this island for the laudable reasons you have given us, or there may be more sinister motives behind your actions. We may never know. However, based on the statements made by the good citizens of this town, it is clear that you had approached the child earlier in the day, likely with evil intent. You demonstrated your violent nature when you assaulted men in the tavern in the early evening. You were found holding Lisane's body, after this defenceless child had been molested and murdered. Based upon all of this, I judge you guilty."

"But, you haven't even heard from Captain Aneas yet to verify the truth of what I've told you!" Iolaus exclaimed, alarmed and angry that there was to be no effort to examine the facts of why he was on the island, or of who he was, of his character.

"There is nothing Captain Aneas, or the widow Argentia, could tell us which would alter the decision of this court," replied the magistrate, his lip curling as he regarded Iolaus as if he was a loathsome creature.

Iolaus felt his heart sink, and he cast a quick look around the square, seeking some avenue of escape, but there was none. Heavily armed guards surrounded him, two held his arms tightly. The yard was filled with angry townsfolk. There was no way to get through them, and no where to go. Straightening, determined to hide his fear, he turned then to face the magistrate, to hear the sentence, fully expecting to be speedily executed.

"For the crimes of child molestation and murder, I sentence you to hard labour, for the rest of your life, in the salt mines of Yiaros," the magistrate informed him in a stern voice, made harsh by his own disgust of what had been done to the child.

Iolaus almost sagged with relief. They weren't going to execute him! That meant he had time...time to try to find a way to escape, time for Hercules to come after him and help find the truth of what had happened to the little girl. Sometimes, he thought, the gods were merciful.

He should have known better...the gods just don't care.

Unexpectedly, he felt the guards tighten their grip on his arms, pinning his legs with their own. One of them reached around him to secure his body, holding him tightly, the other twined his fingers into Iolaus' hair, getting a good grip. What was going on? Trying unconsciously to pull away from the unexpected restraint, he turned puzzled eyes back to the magistrate who answered his unspoken question. "In keeping with the customs of this island, you are to be twice branded...as a child molester and as a murderer, so that others may always read your crimes upon your face."

Branded! Gods! Iolaus' eyes darted around the square, and he saw the two guards coming toward him, each holding a red-hot iron. "No!" he whispered in shocked disbelief, then he started to struggle, desperate to escape this torture and mutilation. But, he was held in a firm grip, and more hands reached to grab his hair and pull his head up and back, holding his head tightly so that he could do no more than watch the brands come toward him.

He took a deep breath and gritted his teeth, his natural inclination to deny them the satisfaction of hearing him scream; but, then, he thought, they _should_ hear him scream, to remember this moment when they finally learned of his innocence. Perhaps the memory of the horror, and of the pain they had inflicted, would temper their judgments of strangers in the future. In his own innocence, and from his own honest perspective, he believed that it mattered to them, that guilt or innocence mattered, that they'd regret having done this to an innocent man. But, his simple honesty was a rare commodity, particularly on Yiaros. Like the gods, too many people in Yiaros just didn't care.

He felt the fiery heat of the brand as it came close to his face, and he closed his eyes, steeling himself for what was to come, feeling his sense of fury build, fury for having been falsely accused and condemned. The fury helped fight the fear, and the growing sense of desperation he felt at being trapped, unable to escape, or even fight back...and the horror of knowing he would be marked for life. Silence had descended upon the square, like a heavy cloak, as everyone in the crowd watched the branding iron lifted toward his face.

Iolaus shouted once into the silence, his voice ringing from one end of the square to the other, in tones of fury and desolation mixed in equal measure. "I swear, I did _not_ hurt Lisane. _I am innocent_!"

Iolaus felt the sharp, deep burning agony of the brand pressed tightly against his right cheek, smelled his skin burning, heard the sizzle, as the symbol for molestation was burned high on his cheekbone, just under his eye. He let the scream come as the pain surged through his face, his head, filling his reality, merciless, unending, unbelievable, and the ragged cry of desperate agony mingled with outrage and blistering fury filled the courtyard, echoing beyond its walls.

But, notwithstanding his earlier decision to let them know the torment they caused, it was not in his nature to scream out in pain. Ashamed of his own weakness, he fought back the scream until it lodged in his throat. Only a thin, high keening wail was able to escape past the tightness of his throat and clenched teeth. Tears of agony and rage filled his eyes and slipped down his cheeks. He hissed when the salt of his tears stung along the inflamed skin at the edge of the burn. Then, the brand was lifted, but its absence did nothing to quell the agony it had inflicted.

Without warning, the second brand was placed lower on the same cheek, just above his jawline, closer to the corner of his mouth, imprinting the symbol of murder on his skin. Iolaus again smelled burning flesh, heard the hiss of the brand blackening his skin, felt the fire rage through his head. He arced back against the pain, baring his clenched teeth, his eyes open to the sky, seeking some solace, some relief...but there was none. Finally, it was over. He slumped forward in the grip of the guards who held him upright, shocked by the violence of the assault against him, blind with the agony which overwhelmed his senses.

Iolaus was sickened by what had been done to him, not only by the pain, but by the realization that even when his innocence was proven, even if the actual murderer was found, he was forever marked as a molester and murderer of children. From this day forward, he would carry scars, which would raise hatred, and disgust in the eyes of all who beheld him. Gods, he could scarcely grasp what had happened, what it would mean for the rest of his life.

Dimly, from a far distance, he thought he heard the heartbroken wail of a child...and then his fury at what had happened to the child and the injustice to him, the mutilation, the beatings and pain, all overwhelmed him. The guards had loosened their grip on his arms, and he lashed back with his elbows, stunning them, breaking away from them. Others moved to grab him, to restrain him, as he fought grimly, knowing this might be his only chance to strike out at what the Fates had ordained for him.

It was a hopeless struggle, as he'd known it would be. It was with a sense of inevitability that he felt something hard crash into the back of his head...and then darkness claimed him.

The magistrate had watched the sentence carried out with a cold dispassionate glare. The people of the island could rest easy now, knowing the beast had been caught. He felt nothing for the prisoner beyond contempt. But, he too heard the wail of a child...and it chilled him.

* * *

Aneas was furious, his face red with anger, his body tense with the need to hit something, as he paced and shouted at the magistrate. "How could you do this without giving him a chance to prove his innocence!"

The magistrate retained an air of calm which was infuriating. "The testimony of witnesses made his guilt very clear."

'Supercilious bastard!' Aneas thought as he continued his tirade. "Guilt! My men saw the fight last night. Your 'upstanding citizens' were drunk, and provoked Iolaus. He didn't want to fight them, and only acted in self-defence. Then, he obviously raced to the rescue of a child only to be charged with her murder. By Poseidon's Trident, the only reason he's on this miserable island was to fulfil a promise to a dying man he didn't even know. Gods, man, Iolaus is a _hero_, well known throughout Greece! He would never, _never_, do such a thing! You've made a terrible mistake!"

The magistrate just shook his head. "I understand your desire to defend a friend, but the man is guilty. Perhaps we have a different understanding of what a hero is. Certainly, he did not strike me as someone worthy of respect. He'll be taken to the salt mines, where he will toil until he dies. There is no more to be said. Go."

Aneas stared at the magistrate for a long moment, wanting to throttle the idiot. He looked away, fighting for control, trying to blot out the memories of the soulwrenching scream and the keening wail, the smell and sound of burning flesh. One of his men had come running from the town to tell him what was happening, and he had met the guard sent for him just as he was leaving the ship, anxious to stop the precipitous trial. Not for one moment did Aneas believe the charges laid against Iolaus. He had been heartsick to realize he'd arrived at the prison yard too late to stop the sentencing, and could only watch helplessly while it was carried out.

There was no more to be done here. He had to go for help...he had to let Jason know what had happened as quickly as possible. He knew Jason would find Hercules. Together, they would come back for Iolaus.

Looking back at the magistrate, he said quietly, "You have no idea of what you have done, or of how wrong you are. You've tortured and condemned an innocent man, while the true molester and murderer is still free on your island...free to hurt another child. You're a fool."

Without another word, Aneas stormed from the prison yard, where he had confronted the magistrate, to the jail itself, demanding to see Iolaus...but, they would not let him pass, would not allow him to see or comfort his friend, to offer assurances that help would be coming soon. Frustrated, angry, Aneas stalked back to his ship. Not waiting for the loading of the usual cargo of salt to be completed, he ordered the sails to be unfurled, unlashed the ship from the dock, and taking the rudder, he guided his vessel out of the port and back into the open seas. With good wind and weather, he could make the harbour at Corinth in three days. From there, it was only an hour's ride to Jason's home.

* * *

Iolaus had been dragged, unconscious, from the prison yard back into a holding cell in the stone building. His guards were impatient to revive him, so they threw a bucket of salted water onto his face. The salt burned into skin made raw by the brands, the pain searing through him, causing him to cry out involuntarily, as it tore the shield of unconsciousness from him. Spluttering, moaning a little from the agony which blazed through his head, neck and shoulders, Iolaus blinked up at the guards.

They laughed at his torment, glad to see such an evil man suffer. Roughly, resisting his efforts to push and kick them away, they chained his wrists together, then linked the chains to shackles they locked around his ankles and, finished, they hauled him to his feet. He was shoved from the room, back out into the yard, stumbling a little as he became accustomed to the shortened gait allowed by the heavy chains. One guard mounted a horse, and taking the lead rope attached to the chains on Iolaus' wrists, the guard turned his mount, then headed out of the gates, and through the town, pulling Iolaus behind him.

As they made their way along the narrow streets, irate citizens pelted Iolaus with rotten vegetables, and not a few stones. He hunched his shoulders, and lowered his face, trying to protect his head as best he could from the assault. They screamed curses at him as he passed by, called upon the gods to torment him, and upon the demons of Tarturus to come for his soul. Iolaus shuddered at the deluge of hate, horrified by what was happening...sick with grief for the girl, afraid of what the guilty man might do to another child...and both angry and appalled for what he faced, not only in the mines, but for the rest of his life.

The anger of this crowd, and its contempt, was only the beginning. All would now look upon him with loathing, despising him for crimes he had not committed. It was if the brands had marked his soul every bit as deeply as they had scared his face.

As they finally passed from the town into the hills beyond, Iolaus was sure he heard a child call out, crying, "Nooo! Please...noooo!" The despair in the voice caught at his heart, and forgetting the threats to his own life for the moment, he looked about wildly, to identify where the cry had come from. He called to the guard on the horse, "Stop! Didn't you hear that...a child is in trouble!"

The guard, hearing the genuine alarm in Iolaus' voice, looked back at him, a puzzled expression on his face. "Hear what?" he asked in rough, impatient tones.

The cry came again, and Iolaus jerked his head toward the sound. "There it is again. You have to help!"

The guard looked around at the forest which surrounded them. "I didn't hear anything," he said indifferently, then turned and kicked his mount, urging it to move forward up the path.

Iolaus gazed at the guard's back, stunned into silence for a moment... 'didn't hear'? But, there it was again! Determined to do something for the child who was crying not far away, sounding lost and anguished, Iolaus pulled on the rope attached to his chains. "Stop!" he shouted angrily, "You have to help!"

The guard jerked the rope, pulling him forward, off balance. "There's no child...I don't hear anything. There's nothing there!" The guard cast a wary look back at his prisoner, wondering if the man was making it all up, or if, perhaps, the prisoner was crazy. Iolaus saw the look, and finally understood. The guard really didn't hear the child crying. What in Tarturus was going on?

* * *

The salt mine was high in the hills about five miles from the main town. By the time they reached its entrance through the cliffs, Iolaus' back and legs were aching from the unaccustomed gait he had had to assume to accommodate the short length of chain between the shackles on his ankles. His ankles and wrists were worn raw, oozing blood and stinging whenever his salty sweat touched the wounds. His side was aching, his breath beginning to catch...maybe the ribs were more than cracked...and his headache had gotten worse. His right eye had swollen shut in reaction to the branding¼and he could feel the eye pull down toward the injury while the edge of his mouth pulled up, as the skin around the burns contracted. Iolaus was in no hurry to see the actual damage to his face. He figured his visage would frighten young children, and sicken pretty girls. No, he was in no hurry to see it for himself.

Iolaus noted the two guards at the entrance to the mine. Hard to miss them when they spat at him, and sneered with disgust and contempt as they read the brands he wore. He did his best to ignore them, continuing to plod after the guard who dragged him forward until they arrived in front of a good sized wooden structure, the warden's quarters. They had no sooner arrived when the door of the low, one story building slammed open and a large man garbed in fine leather ducked under the lintel and sauntered out onto the porch.

"Who do we have here?" he asked, his eyes narrowing when he noted the brands.

"A new lifer for you, Remus. He's a bad one," the guard replied.

"Another one? This island seems a magnet for his sort," mused Remus as he read the brands on Iolaus' face. He stepped down from the porch, and ambled over to Iolaus, gripping his chin in one strong hand and raising Iolaus' face to his own. "Welcome to Tarturus," he said. "I tolerate no insolence, no fighting amongst the slaves, er, inmates. Speak when you're spoken to, and do your work without complaint. Violate any of these rules, and feel the whip. Am I clear?"

Iolaus held the warden's hard look, his own slightly glazed with pain. He nodded, then, remembering the rule, 'speak when spoken to', he answered, "Very clear."

The warden nodded. At least this new one wasn't stupid. Looked strong, too, even if he was on the puny side. Looking up at the guard who held Iolaus' leash, he asked, "When did he last eat or have water?"

The guard shrugged. "I don't know. Last night at the tavern, I guess, before he was caught."

The warden shifted his gaze back to Iolaus, "That true?"

Iolaus swallowed. Just the mention of water was a small torment all its own. "Yes."

The warden smiled, but it carried no warmth. There was a cold calculating look in his eyes, as he continued to stare at Iolaus but spoke to the guard, "Take him up to the quarry. Tell the overseer no food or water for twenty-four hours."

The guard nodded and pulled on the leash, drawing Iolaus away, on up the incline, and around a cut of rock. No water in a salt mine? The guard sighed. He felt no pity for the animal he'd brought here, but he wouldn't treat a mad dog so cruelly. The salt would leech all the moisture from the prisoner's body in a matter of hours, less probably, since the man was already dehydrated. He'd be hallucinating before they finally gave him water. If he even lasted that long.

Iolaus was taking in all the details of his new prison. He looked for any weaknesses, any likely escape routes, and was philosophical when he didn't see any immediate possibilities. It was early yet¼he'd not been in the mine itself. There were always opportunities, he just had to keep looking for them. He tried to be equally philosophical at the prospect of going without water. His mouth was already dry, his tongue a little swollen, making it hard to swallow. All he could do was try to conserve his energy as much as possible. It wouldn't kill him...just one more thing to be endured.

He heard the sound of picks and the rumble of voices before they entered into the salt mines itself. When they did, he stopped and looked up, and up. The pathways meandered along the cliff walls, passing innumerable cave entrances. The 'mine' was a massive quarry, with immense heaps of raw salt piled in the centre awaiting transport, while more was taken from the walls, and from the caves. The salt was blinding in the sunlight, a stark glaring whiteness which made his eyes water. It was hot...and dry, very dry. Iolaus could feel the sweat on his body evaporate, leaving him feeling almost chilled. There were hundreds of prisoners slaving in the mine, most dressed in rags, emaciated, looking glazed with exhaustion. Iolaus saw the evidence of whippings in torn tunics and scored backs.

'Real fun place,' he thought with a sigh.

While he studied his new domain, a massive, ugly, baldheaded man strode up to the guard. The overseer, no doubt, Iolaus thought, noting the man wore baggy cotton pants, a whip and little else. His guard had gotten down from his horse, and had begun to unlock the shackles on Iolaus' wrists and ankles. It was a relief just to be rid of the weight of iron. Iolaus stood quietly, watching the overseer watch him, then, he looked away and down, feigning submission. No need to raise this guy's suspicions or attract unnecessary attention.

The overseer snorted. He was no fool, and he'd noted the muscles, the hard look in Iolaus' eyes before he masked it, the proud stance before Iolaus let his shoulders slump. This one would bear watching. He was smart enough to pretend subservience. Taking in the message of the brands, the overseer rumbled to the guard, "You might just as well have killed him outright as bring him here. The prisoners won't tolerate him amongst them any more than they tolerated any of the others with the same brands. He won't last a week."

'Others?' Iolaus thought with a quick frown, 'How many others?' Iolaus cast a sidelong look up at the overseer, caught the man's eyes, and read the intelligence behind the brutish exterior. He shook his head, understanding that the man had taken his measure, and sighed. Rubbing his wrists unconsciously, Iolaus studied the cliffs. If it wasn't likely he'd last a week, he'd better find a way out soon.

His attention was drawn back when the overseer cuffed him lightly. "Pay attention, and don't torment yourself with hopes of escape. Your life will be a constant misery from this moment on. But, it will likely be mercifully short. Probably better than you deserve, given what those brands say you've done."

What could you say to that? "I'm innocent," Iolaus said. Might as well establish the facts up front.

The overseer laughed, "Sure you are, just like the last half dozen who came with the same brands in the last eighteen months or so. Just like everyone else here claims to be, for that matter. Listen up, boy, it don't matter if you're innocent or you're not. You wear the brand, that makes you guilty."

The overseer noted the look of surprise, followed by speculation, on the prisoner's face at the mention of the others who had arrived with the same brands. The overseer grimaced. He had believed the guilt of the first one¼and was able to convince himself the second was possibly guilty as well. But, when the others came, spaced a few months apart, he knew there was something wrong about it all. The law of averages argued against so many different child molesters and murderers over such a short period of time. They had all been strangers to the island, easy to blame, easy to convict. But, the overseer knew other children had gone missing over the years. He was certain the guilty man was an islander, not a series of strangers from away. Still, it was none of his business. Once they were found guilty, they belonged to him and to the mine. Who they were, their guilt or innocence, didn't matter.

The overseer looked away from the questions in the new prisoner's eyes, and signaled one of the guards who were posted around the site. "Get the newbie a pick, show him where to work, and make sure no one gives him any water or food until I say so." The overseer hadn't needed to hear the warden's orders. It was always the same. No food, and especially no water, broke the most belligerent spirit in very little time.

Iolaus found a pick thrust into his hands, and then he was shoved up the narrow pathway which clung to the cliffside, until they reached a cave about halfway up. Some of the prisoners hammered and dug at the quarry walls from the questionable security of the narrow pathway, while others dug from inside the walls, ever enlarging the quarry, loosening the salt which could then be carted down the pathways and shoveled into piles awaiting shipment.

All the way up the canyon path, Iolaus puzzled over the overseer's words, and felt increasingly sick. Six others had been similarly convicted. That meant six other children had been molested and killed. This wasn't an isolated event. Something truly evil was loose on this island, and more children would die if it wasn't stopped. 'Gods,' Iolaus thought, as he looked up and around at the walls of the mine which was his prison, 'I have to get out of here. I have to find a way to stop him. Maybe I couldn't help Lisane...but, this has to end before another child dies!'

The guard shoved him into the darkness of the mine, pushing him along the passageway, past other workers, until they came to a free space of wall. "Go to work," the guard snarled, then walked away.

Iolaus looked at the pick in his hand. Things were looking up. He was no longer wearing chains, and they'd given him a weapon. The only problem was, the men around him would despise him for the brands he bore, and they all had picks or shovels, too.

Slamming his pick into the wall, Iolaus thought about the promise he had made to Hercules, about staying out of trouble. Shaking his head, he figured this had to be a record, even for him. He'd been on the island for less than twenty-four hours, and he'd already been condemned of murder and child molestation, branded, and was slaving in a salt mine. 'Sorry, Herc,' he thought, slamming the pick into the hard packed salt a second time, 'I swear, all I did was try to help a kid, and now I can't leave until I find out who the monster is...and find a way to stop him.'

Iolaus raised his head at the sound of the child's cry. Not scared this time, but angry, and he noticed that no one else seemed to hear. Licking his dry lips, his eyes scanned the tunnel and caught the disgusted looks of his fellow prisoners. He read the hostility in their eyes. But, all he could hear was a child shouting, "No...I won't go! NO!"

* * *

The harassment began almost immediately. Whenever his back was turned, Iolaus found himself pelted with small rocks and sharp stones. When he moved with the other prisoners, he soon found himself surrounded, shoved, tripped, punched. He used his own elbows to good effect, clearing enough space to spin and lash out with feet and fists, creating enough of a ruckus to attract the notice of the guards.

'No fighting' was one of the rules. Great.

He was hauled away from the others, his vest stripped from his shoulders and his wrists were lashed to a loop of metal which had been driven into the cliff face high enough that his arms were stretched well over his head. First offence, five lashes. One of the guards undertook the grim duty with enthusiasm. The whip was a thin, lethal strip of rawhide, which cut his skin with each lash. Iolaus gritted his teeth and lowered his forehead against the wall of the mine...just one more indecency, one more assault, to be endured. The dry air sucked the moisture from his blood, drying it on his back, before it could drip to the earth below.

That night, he slept with one eye open, watching for any attack by his fellow prisoners. At first he'd tried to reason with them. He pointed out how unlikely it was that seven different strangers would commit the same wretched crime in such a small community...it had to be someone local. But, they'd made their own judgment. He was scum, worse than a mad dog, and they'd do all they could to make his life miserable... until they found a way to kill him.

It was cold in the cave they used as a dormitory. As the night wore on, curled on the hard, stone floor, Iolaus shivered against the chill, feeling weak and slightly disoriented. He'd gone more than a day without food or water. His lips and tongue were swollen, there was scarcely any saliva in his mouth. His muscles were aching more than they should, and he knew they would soon start to cramp; his headache was getting worse...all effects of dehydration. He tried to rest, to conserve his energy, but the shivering used it up at a fearful rate.

The next day was hell. The sun was blinding, and hot. The air was dryer than dust, sucking every drop of moisture it could find. Iolaus' skin around the brands, and where the chains had chafed, cracked painfully, and his nose and lips were so dry, they had started to bleed by midmorning. He was dizzy and increasingly disoriented, less able to defend himself against the petty abuse of the other prisoners. He found himself tripping over unseen feet, surprised to find himself on his knees. Rocks bruised his body and stones left shallow cuts and gouges on his arms and face. By midafternoon, he could barely stand, the world spun around him, and darkness hovered at the edge of his vision. He needed water, and he needed it soon.

At one point, he swung his pick, only to overbalance, and he found himself flat on his back, the darkness creeping in. He heard someone calling him, and he tried to focus. Gradually, he became aware of a beautiful woman in a gossamer gown floating somewhere in the air above him. "Iolaus!" she called again sharply, "Answer me!"

Iolaus struggled to remain conscious, forcing his eyes to stay open, squinting against the painful glare of the sun. "Celesta?" he muttered, his voice hardly more than a whisper, finding it hard to talk past his thick tongue. "Am I dead?" Strangely, he felt no fear of death's herald, and no resistance. One part of his mind told him he should fight, but the rest of his mind was too tired and disoriented to care.

"No, Iolaus, at least not yet," she assured him briskly, and he giggled as he echoed, "Not yet?" in reply.

"Listen to me!" she commanded, her hand capturing his face, drawing his eyes and attention back to her. "I need your help."

Something of her urgency got through to him, and he sobered. "What? How can I help you?"

Celesta's head turned to the side, and she waved one arm gracefully, drawing another spirit into his frame of vision.

"Lisane!" he whispered, shocked to see her, "What are you doing here?"

"I won't leave you!" the child cried. "She can't make me go! I want to help you! You tried to help me, and they are hurting you. This isn't right!"

Confused, Iolaus looked back at Celesta. Was he imagining all of this? Dehydration caused hallucinations, he knew that. This couldn't be real. As if reading his mind, Celesta assured him, "Oh, yes, this is real, Iolaus. We are here. You see and hear us, though no one else can. You know spirits can only exist in this plane for three days before becoming trapped here forever...if Lisane won't come with me soon, she will never be able to go to her final rest."

Iolaus frowned at that. It wasn't right. The child shouldn't be condemned to an eternal existence as a lost and wandering soul. Turning to Lisane, he whispered, "You have to go with Celesta. You can't stay here any longer."

The child's eyes filled with tears, and she reached out toward him, only to have her touch stayed by Celesta. The child was attached enough to Iolaus without trying to make a physical link. "I won't leave you," Lisane choked out past the lump in her throat.

Iolaus gazed at her with concern, and reached to lightly brush her hair back with his fingertips, only to feel a deep and abiding cold. "Lisane, thank you for for wanting to help me. But, you can't, sweetie. There isn't anything you can do. I don't want you lost, for eternity, because of me. Trust me, I'm not worth it. It's okay for you to go, really. You have to leave with Celesta. I told you she'd be nice and she'll take good care of you. Say hello to Hades for me. Tell him...tell him I might be seeing him...in the next few days."

Lisane held his eyes as she sniffed and thought about his words. Celesta took her hand, and smiled at Iolaus as she murmured, "Thank you." Then, they both began to fade. Just before they were gone completely, Lisane shouted, "I'll be back! I promise!"

Iolaus found his own eyes had filled with tears, and he felt the lump grow in his throat, his heart twist in his chest. After everything the poor child had suffered, she was worried about what happened to him. He'd never known anyone who'd risked eternity for him before. "It's okay, Lisane,' he whispered to the air, "Be at peace, child."

Iolaus didn't know that everyone around him had stopped working, and had stared at him throughout this exchange with Celesta and the child. They couldn't hear, or see, the angel of death, or Lisane's spirit, and they were convinced the murderer was hallucinating, losing his mind to the guilt he must feel for having killed the child. But, those closest felt the strange bitter cold, which filled the chamber near where Iolaus was lying, and they wondered what exactly the disoriented murderer had seen.

The guard gave him water that night. Not a lot, but enough to keep him alive.

* * *

The guards woke them at dawn, as usual, and gave them their portion of bread and cheese, and their cup of water. They were then driven from the cave where they slept out into the light of the day, handed their picks and shovels, then moved along to their places of work for the day. Iolaus noticed the wary looks¼ and wondered what they had seen and heard the night before. He grinned, hoping they'd all had a look at Celesta. She was enough to give anyone pause!

The water and food, meager as it was, enlivened him. He'd spotted a possible route out of this hellhole. He could climb to the top of the quarry, then over and down the surrounding cliffs. The only problem was that if the cliffs were too steep on the other side, he'd fall. So, he kept looking for other options.

The prisoners stepped up their abuse that day, partly out of loathing, and partly out of fear that he really was crazy, and could be a threat to them all. They'd just finished the midmorning water break, and Iolaus had turned to go back to work on the wall of salt, when he felt the heavy blow of a hammer against his bruised ribs. Crying out at the sudden pain, he rolled with the blow, and came up, pick in front of him, to ward off further attack. He found himself facing a half circle of desperate men, their eyes a little wild, their faces flushed. One swung his hammer at Iolaus' head, only to have the blow blocked by the pick in Iolaus' hands, and with a twist, Iolaus deftly disarmed the assailant. He had to turn and dodge an attack from the side, dropping under the sweep of a sharp pick. He used his feet to kick assailants away, dropping two to the ground. He swung his own tool out in a wide circle, then lashed out catching one assailant across the head, and cracking another's shoulder.

They backed off, surprised at the speed and deadly accuracy with which he responded to their attack. They hadn't realized he was a warrior until that moment. The guards, noting the commotion and shouting, lashed out with whips, driving the combatants apart. Since Iolaus was standing at the centre of the conflict, with the fewest obvious wounds from the brief battle, they hauled him out for the disciplinary whipping. Ten lashes this time.

The whipping hurt, but it was a known and transient pain. The sharp, stabbing agony in his side, each time he drew breath, worried him more. He'd been kidding when he'd told Lisane to take his message to Hades, knowing the God of the Underworld hated the way Iolaus kept disrupting his bookkeeping and distracting his wife, Persephone, but, now Iolaus thought he might be in real trouble. Untreated broken ribs, and a slow bleeding lung, would kill him. It was just a matter of time.

He tried to draw his injury to the attention of the guards, hoping they'd bind his ribs. It was a mistake, one he wouldn't make again. They had just laughed at him, asking him why he thought they'd care, and then one had punched him in the injured side before walking away, leaving him doubled over, gasping in agony. Apparently, they didn't consider the prisoners as assets, to be cared for so that they could be effective miners. Maybe the guards just figured they could always get more prisoners if this crop died.

* * *

Iphicles was among the first to arrive in Argos. Corinth, Mycenae and Sparta were the closest kingdoms to Argos. He was pleased to see Hercules waiting for him in the courtyard, and greeted him warmly. "So, brother, you've made sure all is safe and secure for us. I always rest easier in a colleague's fortress when I know you've overseen the arrangements!" Iph clapped Herc on the shoulder, and the two of them entered the castle.

Theron greeted Iphicles enthusiastically. The two men got along well and had frequently been allies in times of conflict. Theron poured them wine, while Iphicles looked around the hall. Something was missing, or rather, someone. "Hercules, I thought Iolaus was with you," Iphicles observed as he took the goblet Theron handed to him.

Hercules frowned unconsciously before answering. "Iolaus has gone to Yiaros. On the way here, we tried to help a traveler who was ambushed by bandits. Unfortunately, the man was killed." Hercules sighed quietly as he remembered, "Before he died, he begged Iolaus to take his moneybelt to his wife on Yiaros."

"So, Iolaus agreed," Iphicles interjected, then took a sip of his wine, while he studied his brother over its rim. Hercules looked distracted, troubled. Something was bothering him. "You seem worried, Hercules. Is something wrong?" Iph asked.

King Theron listened to the exchange and cast his own concerned look at the demigod. He'd also noticed that Hercules had seemed increasingly tense over the past couple of days, and he looked like he hadn't been sleeping well.

Hercules shrugged in response to Iphicles' question, and looked a little embarrassed. "I've been worried, I guess, for the past few days," he said. Catching Theron's look of concern, he hastened to explain, "Not about the security arrangements or the conference. I'm sure everything is in order. It's just that, I don't know, I wonder if Iolaus is alright."

His voice drifted off. He felt awkward and not a little ridiculous. There was no reason for this feeling of anxiety. No reason to believe Iolaus was in trouble. His buddy would be furious to think Hercules worried about him whenever he was out of sight, and, normally, Hercules didn't worry. He knew Iolaus could handle himself, and it would have to be major trouble for it to overwhelm his very capable friend. Still, he had this nagging sense that something was wrong.

Iphicles studied Hercules quietly. He'd learned to trust his brother's hunches. If Hercules felt something was wrong, it was worth checking out. "King Albion will be here for the trade talks. We can speak with him tomorrow. If there is something wrong, well, he should know about it, unless something happened on Yiaros after he left."

Hercules cast a grateful look at his brother. He appreciated the fact that Iph took his concern seriously¼ but, then, oddly, it made him feel worse. Having Iph trust his instincts so readily made Hercules more afraid that, maybe, something really was wrong.

Sighing, he nodded, "That's a good idea. We can see if Albion has any news. But, I think I may head out tomorrow afternoon anyway. It's crazy, Iph, but I have this itchy feeling," Herc rolled his shoulders expressively, and looked up at his brother, "I don't know how else to describe it, but I've got a bad feeling."

* * *

Aneas made good time, and was on his way to Jason's place just as the royal ship from Yiaros landed at Naphthlion, where King Albion met the escort assigned to take him to Argos. Both arrived at their destinations as dusk settled across the Peloponnese, long shadows stretching from the mountains to blanket the land in darkness.

The sea captain dropped from the horse he had rented at the port, and strode briskly past Alcmene's garden to knock sharply on the cottage door. In moments, the door was opened by Jason, who was clearly surprised at the sight of this unexpected, but very welcome, old friend. "Aneas! Come in! Come in! Alcmene," he called, "we have company!"

Then, turning back to Aneas, he registered the grim look on his friend's face, and the smile on his own dimmed. "What is it?" he asked softly, as he drew Aneas into the house, "What's happened?"

Aneas took a steadying breath, nodded at Alcmene, and settled in the chair Jason had led him toward. "I'm sorry to bring bad news," he began. "I've come to you for help."

Jason finished pouring a goblet of red wine, and handed it to Aneas, before settling himself on a couch beside Alcmene, across from his old friend. "Of course, old friend, what can I do to help you?"

Aneas took a sip of the wine, then shook his head. "I'm not being very clear. The help is not for me, it's for your friend, Iolaus."

Alcmene gasped at the name, her eyes clouding with worry, as Jason slipped a supporting arm around her shoulders. "What's happened to Iolaus?" he demanded, his voice anxious. The last he had heard, Iolaus and Hercules had been on the way to Argos.

"I've just come from Yiaros," Aneas explained. "Iolaus had gone there at the request of a dying stranger he and Hercules had tried to save from bandits, to advise the man's widow of what had happened and to give her the man's money belt. Three days ago, he was accused of molesting and murdering a child, and condemned to life servitude in the island's salt mines."

There was a stunned, shocked silence for a moment. Alcmene had paled, and her eyes had grown wide with disbelief as she gripped Jason's hand. "No," she said firmly, "Iolaus would *never do such a thing!"

Jason squeezed her hand reassuringly. "Alcmene's right. Iolaus could never hurt a child."

Aneas nodded. "I know, I agree with your assessment of him. That's why I've come. I'm hoping you will find Hercules and that we can all return to Yiaros to find out the truth and free Iolaus from the mines...." Aneas paused, and frowned, as he looked away.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Jason asked quietly, seeing the look of distress in his old friend's eyes.

Aneas nodded and swallowed the bile, which rose in his throat every time he recalled that desperate keening wail, and the smell of burning flesh. "Yes, I'm afraid there is. They branded Iolaus a molester and murderer. His face will carry those scars for the rest of his life."

"By the gods!" Jason murmured, sickened by the information. He hugged Alcmene more tightly, aware that she had begun to tremble.

"Do you know where Hercules is?" Aneas asked.

Jason nodded. "Yes, he's at Argos. I'll send a messenger immediately. He can meet me at Naphthlion. By the time he gets the message, I can have the Argo at the dock there."

"Take the Argo if you wish, Jason, but I am prepared to offer the services of my ship and crew. Iolaus is a member of my crew, for however short a time, and I owe him whatever help I can give."

Jason thought about this. It would save time to use a ship already fully provisioned and crewed. "Thanks, Aneas, your offer makes a lot of sense." Turning to Alcmene, he asked, "Will you pack some clothes for me, and my weapons, while I go into town and arrange for a messenger to go to Argos?"

"Of course, and I'll make a quick meal. You'll both need to eat before you leave for the port," Alcmene agreed, brushing tears from her eyes, and standing with a determined air. She would like to go to Yiaros too, but she knew Jason would never agree, and she'd only distract him with concern for her when he needed to be focused on Iolaus. She sighed a little, resenting her role as the one who waits and prays.

But, more than anything else, she was furious. She remembered the high spirited little boy who had always sported too many bruises and broken bones whenever his father was at home. But, the child had never complained and always had one excuse or another to explain away the injuries, until one day they had found him in the stable, half beaten to death. He'd told Hercules it was a run in with a horse, but he'd confessed the truth to Alcmene.

And, she remembered the youth who had run with a street gang, but who had risked his life to save her's. She'd never known the full truth of why he'd run away from home, but she had her suspicions. Finally, she remembered the father who had been so gentle with his own child, and the 'uncle' who had been much beloved by Hercules' children. Iolaus, an abused child himself, would die before he harmed a child. And now they had branded him!

She'd like to horsewhip whoever was responsible for this travesty of justice.

Jason and Aneas left the house and headed into town, while she put a pot of stew on the stove to reheat, and then she began to pack Jason's gear.

* * *

If Hercules had hoped to learn something from the King of Yiaros that evening, he was disappointed. King Albion retired to his chamber as soon as he arrived in Argos. He was tired from the voyage and had no interest in making idle conversation with his peers for the rest of the evening. Time enough to meet them in the morning, when the trade talks began.

The next day, at breakfast, he spotted King Iphicles across the room talking with a great hulk of a man. Probably the King's brother, Hercules. Albion had heard of the son of Zeus, but had never credited the tales told by bards and minstrels, believing them to be wild and romantic exaggerations. When Iphicles sensed his gaze, and looked up into his eyes, Albion scowled at him, angry that one of Iphicles' subjects had murdered a child on Yiaros. Iph, catching the scowl, frowned, wondering why Albion seemed so angry. They'd had little to do with one another in the past, and there was no reason for such hostility. Given Hercules' feeling of disquiet, that look didn't bode well. However, before he could cross the room to ask Albion if something was bothering him, Theron urged his guests to finish their light breakfast so that the discussions could begin.

After the meal of fruits, breads, cheeses, yogurt, honey and ale, the men adjourned to a large conference room to begin their trade discussions. It was midmorning by the time Albion and Iphicles had an opportunity to speak privately. When the talks broke off briefly, Albion signaled to one of his aides and directed the man to retrieve from his quarters the sack and sword belonging to the criminal. Then, he strode around the room to confront Iphicles, who was engaged in dialogue with King Theron. Hercules was standing across the room, caught by Julian who wanted to know if Hercules had any suggestions for improving the security of the hall, now that the meetings had begun. Hercules watched Albion cross the room toward Iphicles, but had to give his attention to Julian. By the time Albion could capture Iphicles' attention, his aide was back and standing discreetly behind him.

"Iphicles!" Albion began sternly, "I wish to lodge a complaint to you about the conduct of one of your citizens."

Iph and Theron turned to face Albion, curiosity and concern mingled on their faces. "A complaint?" Iphicles repeated, a sinking feeling in his stomach. It appeared that Hercules' feeling was about to be substantiated.

"Yes. One of your citizens molested and murdered a child in Yiaros four days ago. He's been sentenced to life servitude in our salt mines. I thought you should know what had happened to him, and why." Turning to his servant, he took the sword in its scabbard and the scruffy pack into his hands, then, with a moue of distaste, he turned to hand them to Iphicles. "These are the belongings of...."

"Iolaus," Iphicles said, his voice hollow, his eyes wide with dismay and disbelief, before Albion could complete his statement, and name the criminal. Turning away from Albion, Iphicles waved urgently at Hercules, to draw him from across the room, and was frustrated when he could not get his brother's attention.

"You know him?" Albion asked, deeply surprised that these meager, obviously poor belongings, had been so instantly recognized by the King of Corinth. Iphicles ignored him, and called to Hercules, and, when his brother looked over at him, he again waved sharply to draw Herc quickly. Then Iph turned and took Iolaus' possessions from Albion's hands.

Catching the second wave, sensing the urgency, Herc nodded and moved across the room, wondering what Iph wanted, his sixth sense jangling when he recognized Albion, the King of Yiaros. Had something happened to Iolaus? The disquiet he'd been feeling for the past several days grew to alarm when he saw the familiar sword and pack in his brother's hands. His heart twisting in sudden fear, he looked up and saw dismay in Iphicles' eyes.

"Iolaus? What's happened?" Herc demanded, his deep concern evident in his voice, his clear blue eyes dark with worry.

Albion sighed with impatience. "I've just informed Iphicles that the man, Iolaus, has molested and murdered a young girl on Yiaros, and has been sentenced to life servitude in my island's salt mines."

"_WHAT_?" exclaimed Hercules, in shocked disbelief. "Iolaus would _never_ do such a thing! Someone's made a serious mistake. We have to find the real villain before other children are hurt." And, of course, they had to get Iolaus out of the salt mine, but that went without saying.

Hercules was surprised, and felt the beginnings of annoyance, when Albion merely shrugged, stating flatly, "He is the real villain," and moved to turn away.

But, Theron took Albion by the arm, staying him. "Hercules is right. I know Iolaus well, and I can assure you he is incapable of such a crime. The man's a hero. He'd die before he hurt a child."

Iphicles nodded sharply in agreement. "You've made a grave mistake, Albion. I want Iolaus freed immediately, and an investigation conducted to determine the identity of the actual murderer."

Hercules had taken Iolaus' possessions from his brother's hands, and was staring at them, trying to control his sense of fear for Iolaus. He couldn't believe anyone would think his partner capable of harming a child. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. Iolaus had suffered worse than a few days in a salt mine, but he shouldn't have to suffer at all. Gods, all he'd done was fulfill a promise to a dying stranger.

Looking up at the three kings, his eyes hardening, and his voice tight, Hercules stated, "I'll go to Yiaros myself to free Iolaus from the mine, and to find out what really happened."

"Just a moment!" Albion interjected angrily, his face flushed. "None of you have the right to tell me how to conduct business in my kingdom. The man was found holding the body of the murdered child. There was no one else about...he was clearly guilty. You can't just storm in and take him from the mines. He has a sentence to serve, a life sentence."

"Hey, it's not that simple," Hercules began, still trying to be reasonable. "We know Iolaus, and we know he's innocent. You can't expect us to leave him there, to just forget about him!"

Albion regarded him coldly. "You all seem to think I should just release this man on your word alone. I would have thought all of you would have more interest in the law and justice. Frankly, I'm surprised at your insistence that, simply because he's an acquaintance of yours, he should not have to pay for his crime."

"There is no way Iolaus commited this crime, and there's no justice in punishing an innocent man!" Hercules responded, sounding irritated. He was beginning to lose patience with Albion.

"Our court found him guilty," Albion asserted, pushing Theron's hand from his arm. "I see no reason to intervene."

Hercules was moving beyond irritation to outright anger. He didn't suffer fools gladly, and wasn't about to put up with this nonsense. The fact that Albion was a king didn't make a wit of difference. When Albion again turned, as if to leave, Hercules reached out to pull him back. Seeing his brother's gesture, Iphicles gripped Hercules' arm, to stop him from shouting at the King of Yiaros, or worse, physically shaking him in frustrated anger. There might still be a chance to come to a reasonable agreement before everyone lost control.

His own eyes cold with anger, Iphicles turned to Albion, speaking very slowly, very clearly, so as to be sure Albion would not misunderstand, "I formally request that you provide my brother, Hercules, with a letter of authority to release Iolaus from his servitude. He has been wrongly convicted and does not belong in your mines." Iphicles raised his other hand, to stop whatever it was Albion had been about to say. "Listen to me for a moment. I understand that we will need to work with you to prove Iolaus' innocence, and, if possible, to identify the true perpetrator of this crime. But, we are not prepared to leave Iolaus in the mines while this investigation is being conducted."

"I will not!" argued Albion, incensed. "Who is this man that you think I would take such an unusual action on his behalf? He's guilty until proven otherwise."

"Iolaus is my partner and my best friend," Hercules responded in a low, dangerous voice. It was taking all of his control to resist shaking some sense into the arrogant, and evidently quite stupid, king.

"He is also my best friend," interjected Iphicles, "and we both love Iolaus as a brother. Let me be clear, Albion. I am not prepared to negotiate this or wait on your pleasure to resolve this miscarriage of justice."

Albion snorted. "You have no right to make these demands, and no means to enforce them. If you," he turned to Hercules, "storm onto my island to release your 'partner', you will also be imprisoned."

A low growl was building in Herc's throat, and his eyes blazed with anger. "Why don't you want us to find out the truth? How can you risk the lives of the children on your island like this?" Hercules had been watching Albion closely and was beginning to think the man was hiding something. It didn't make sense for him to stubbornly refuse them. "Is there something else going on? Is there something you don't want us to find out?" he demanded, certain that Albion must have another agenda. No one could be this obtuse. His rage was building at the thought of Iolaus being held captive, at the mercy of this kind of blind stupidity.

Albion bristled at the demigod's tone, and the questions made him uncomfortable. He was well aware of a tendency on the island to conscript slave labour by finding off islanders guilty of one misdemeanor or another. The practice would not bear much scrutiny. However, he had no reason to believe that had occurred in this case. The evidence indicated that they had caught the guilty man. "I don't have to answer to you," he snapped. "Your questions and your tone are insulting. I have nothing more to say to you."

Hercules was not the only one to have completely lost patience with Albion. King Theron interjected in a firm, almost scathing, tone. "You are making a mistake, Albion. Virtually every other King is this room counts Iolaus as a friend. He and Hercules have done much for all of us over the years, killing monsters which threatened our people, subduing warlords and bringing them to justice. If you do not give Hercules the letter Iphicles has requested, then I'm afraid you might as well go home, and prepare to defend your island. No one here will buy your salt, and many of us will contribute warriors to support Hercules in removing Iolaus from your mines, by force if necessary. Now, is that clear enough for you?"

Hercules was surprised, and touched, by the strength of support given by Theron and the other kings. He and Iolaus were so used to fighting evil on their own, he had not expected the kings to take such a strong stand on Iolaus' behalf.

Albion stared at Theron, then he noticed other kings had become aware of their dispute, and were listening to the conversation. He saw the anger in their eyes, their nods of agreement with Theron's threats, and he began to believe that, perhaps, a mistake had been made. Perhaps this Iolaus was not guilty. Perhaps they had acted precipitously.

In any case, the salt trade was of more importance to his island than the life of one convict, or indeed, the life of one child. Salt was the wealth of his island. Without the trade, his people would suffer grave privation. Starvation was a very real possibility, because his island did not support agriculture and they needed to trade for even the most basic foodstuffs.

"I am shocked that you would threaten war for a man who is little more than peasant. It seems justice has no place in Greece," he mumbled, angry at being coerced into an action he did not wish to take.

"It's not justice to sentence an innocent man to life in a salt mine, it's abuse, pure and simple," Hercules retorted. "Justice can only be served when time is taken to investigate crimes and guilt is proven, rather than assumed."

Albion sniffed at this, but didn't fail to note the anger on the faces of his fellow kings, or the fire blazing from the demigod's eyes. Reluctantly, he gave in, nodding in acquiescence. "Alright, I'll give you the letter," he said with bad grace.

Just then, they were distracted by a small commotion at the entrance to the hall. A dusty, weary messenger was trying to force his way into the room, shouting at the guards that he had an urgent message for Hercules. Theron waved the guards back, and the man loped across the hall, holding out a scroll to the demigod. Hercules slung Iolaus' pack over his shoulder, and attached the scabbard to his own belt, then he took and unfurled the scroll.

"It's from Jason," he murmured to Iphicles as he read. "He's been told what happened on Yiaros and is sailing to meet me at Naphthlion. We'll both go to Yiaros to free Iolaus."

Hercules looked up at Albion, his voice hard, his eyes cold, as he stated, "I need that letter NOW."

Albion backed up unconsciously at the cold anger and threat in the demigod's eyes, and in his voice. Snapping his fingers at his aide, he called for parchment and ink. Turning to the table, he scrawled a brief note instructing the warden of the mines to release the prisoner, Iolaus of Corinth, into the custody of Hercules, son of Zeus and brother of King Iphicles of Corinth. He blew briefly on the ink to dry it, then rolled the scroll and handed it to Hercules.

Without another word, Albion turned and strode to the far side of the hall. He thought it prudent to withhold the knowledge that the criminal would almost certainly have been branded. The already very angry demigod would find that out soon enough, and Albion didn't want to be anywhere near by when he did.

Hercules placed the scroll inside his shirt for safekeeping. Understanding his brother's fear for their friend, Iphicles gripped his upper arm, "He'll be alright, Hercules...it's only been a few days."

Herc looked into his brother's eyes. "He'd better be alright," he said grimly.

Then, turning to King Theron and the others, he said sincerely, "Thank you, all of you, for your support. Iolaus," he swallowed, "Iolaus will be very grateful for your confidence in him, as am I."

Then, he turned to stride from the room, almost loping through its entrance into the corridors beyond, hurrying to Naphthlion, and the ship waiting there.

* * *

Having worked as a slave under a variety of circumstances, Iolaus decided that slaving in a salt mine was the worst experience of all. There was all the usual stuff, bad food, worse company, whippings on a regular basis, rotten accommodations. But, salt mines provided additional miseries. The salt sucked every drop of moisture from the body, so that thirst was a constant torment, skin and lips cracked and bled from dehydration, muscles ached and cramped, headaches were constant. The grit of the salt got into everything...burning the eyes, caking in hair, clothing, the creases and joints of the body. It coated skin, and was a constant taste and dryness in the mouth, making the desire for water greater still. It was blinding under the sun, and the salt absorbed and radiated back the heat of the day so that working in the mine gave the impression of being roasted in a white-hot oven. At night, it was cold, so very cold Iolaus could never seem to get warm.

He felt dizzy and disoriented much of the time and figured the concussion wasn't getting any better. His ribs ached constantly, and he felt a sharp jabbing pain with each breath. For the last day, he'd been plagued by a racking cough...and for the last couple of hours, he had tasted blood in the back of his throat. He couldn't seem to stop shivering, even in the heat of the day, which was a dead giveaway that he had a fever. Iolaus sighed as he slammed his pick into the wall of salt, loosening another huge block, and blinking against the sting of salt grit in his eyes. Life in a salt mine was nothing but misery.

The brands he carried only made his existence more miserable still. Every other prisoner in the mine seemed to think it was a point of honour to challenge Iolaus. Consequently, there had been an increasing number of petty confrontations, interspersed with major battles, requiring Iolaus to be constantly on his guard, constantly fighting for survival.

When they weren't confronting him directly, they were placing obstacles in his path, salting his water, sending minor avalanches down the slopes to bruise and batter him. And, because he was able to win the battles, and thus stay alive, the guards felt it necessary to punish him for fighting. His next offence would win him thirty lashes, which meant he'd already received seventy-five lashes in total since arriving in the mine. He suspected his back was a mess, but there was no one to treat it and it stung constantly from the grit of salt in the wounds. The last time they'd whipped him, he'd passed out, and he knew he was at the limit of how much abuse his body could take. Gods, it hurt just to move.

He knew he was losing track of the days. He thought he'd been in the mine for four or five days, but it could have been longer. He just didn't know. However, in his more lucid moments, he figured it couldn't have been more than a week, even if it felt like forever. In another week, Herc would realize something had happened to him, and would come after him. Squinting against the blinding glare, swallowing around his swollen tongue, licking cracked and bleeding lips, Iolaus wasn't all that sure he could last another week.

* * *

Hercules loped onto the long wharf at Naphthlion, his eyes scanning the vessels in the harbour, seeking the Argo. When he heard his name hailed from a ship tied up to the dock, he brought his eyes back, and waved when he saw Jason jump over the side and come toward him. They locked forearms, in a warriors' grip, then slapped one another on the shoulder, their eyes grim, their faces tight with worry. Jason turned to acknowledge the man who had come to stand beside him.

"Hercules, this is Aneas, Captain of the Windspirit. Aneas came to tell me what had happened to Iolaus," Jason explained.

Hercules turned to the Captain and held out his arm for the warrior's greeting. Aneas hesitated a moment, never having met a demigod before, then gripped Herc's arm. Hercules said quietly, "Thank you for coming for help."

Aneas shook his head, replying as he motioned them on board. "No need for thanks. Iolaus is one of my crew and I owe him whatever help I can give. Do you know what happened?"

Hercules responded as he strode up the gangplank and then leaned back against the ship's rail, his arms crossed, "Some of it, at least. King Albion was quick to register his protests with Iphicles about the conduct of one of his citizens. Iolaus must have said something about returning to Corinth for them to have assumed he was a citizen there. Anyway, I gather Iolaus tried to help a child who was molested and murdered, and then was charged with the crime. Albion told us he's serving a life sentence in a salt mine on Yiaros."

Hercules looked away, having to hold the reins on his anger. Turning back to Aneas and Jason, he told them, "I have a letter from King Albion releasing Iolaus into my custody."

Both Jason and Aneas looked immensely relieved at this bit of information. Aneas called to his crew, giving the orders to cast off, and the ship caught the wind, heading back across the Aegean to Naxos. Herc turned to Aneas as soon as the Captain had finished getting the vessel underway. "Did you see Iolaus after they took him prisoner? Was he alright?" Herc knew Iolaus would not have been taken without a fight and he had been worrying about how badly damaged his partner might have been by the King's guards.

"Well, he looked pretty battered at the trial, but he was standing on his own two feet, until, well..." Aneas looked toward Jason as his voice faded away.

Tense already, dreading the response, Hercules was made more anxious by Aneas' hesitation and the look the sea captain threw to Jason, who bit his lip and nodded as he looked up at Hercules.

"What haven't you told me?" Hercules demanded with a frown, standing away from the rail, feeling as if his chest was being constricted by the anxiety which gripped his heart. "What have they done to him?"

Jason swallowed, then took a deep breath. Herc couldn't tell if the expression in his eyes was grief or rage, or both. "Hercules, the custom on Yiaros is to brand criminals, so their crimes can be read forever on their faces."

For a moment, Hercules didn't understand. Brand? And, then it hit him, like a blow to his gut. Iolaus had been branded! His face suddenly pale and drawn, Herc tore his eyes from Jason's and swung around to grip the rail of the ship, until his knuckles were white. He stared out across the sea, feeling sick, wanting to hit something, wanting to weep.

"How long before we reach Yiaros?" was all he said, his voice tight with the effort to control his emotions.

"We should make their harbour in two days," Aneas advised him. Hercules just nodded and continued to stare out over the horizon. 'Someone is going to pay for this,' he thought, knowing even as he contemplated revenge that it wouldn't help his friend. 'Gods, Iolaus, what have they done to you?'

* * *

Heading back to the dormitory cave after another empty, painfilled day, Iolaus' attention was caught by a shiftless, troublemaking inmate...a scrawny, ugly man with the brand of a petty thief on his cheek. What was his name again? Oh, yeah, Lucinus. Iolaus rolled his eyes when Lucinus blocked his path, snarling, "Your time is up, killer! We're not going to put up with having filth like you around."

Iolaus pushed by, having heard all of this before. "Get some new material, Lucinus. The same old lines just get boring, you know?"

But, this time, Lucinus pushed back. His job was to keep Iolaus' attention, while others snuck up behind him. Iolaus heard loose pebbles scrabble behind him, and turned to confront whatever was coming. His quick reaction probably saved his life. A shovel, aimed at the back of his head, missed a solid connection, grazing his temple and landing solidly on his shoulder. Iolaus rolled with the impact, absorbing rather than resisting it, saving himself a broken collarbone. But it hurt, gods, it hurt. His left arm was numb from the shock to his shoulder.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, knowing they were coming after him. He lashed out with his right fist and his feet, spinning and rolling, trying to make sure they couldn't grab and hold him. But, then he felt cold iron cut into his side, along his ribs, seeking passage into his body. Yelling, spinning away, lashing out, he knocked the makeshift blade of a shattered pick from Lucinus' hand. But, in blocking that attack, he'd left himself open to another. He didn't know what hit him. It didn't really matter. All he knew was that the world exploded in a shower of light and pain as something crashed into the back of his head, and then he was falling as everything went black.

Later, when he finally dragged himself back to consciousness, he heard his fellow inmates cursing. The overseer, arriving unexpectedly on the scene, had ordered the guards to intervene before they'd been able to finish Iolaus off for good. Iolaus heard the others vow to kill him. He knew they meant it, and he knew he could not rely upon the guards to save his life. In their eyes, he was a monster who no doubt deserved to die. It was only a matter of time until his luck ran out. He had to get out of here, had to get away, escape, or they'd be burying him in the dust and dirt of this wretched mine.

But, escape where? His experiences in the town had made it abundantly clear that he could not go there, they'd stone him. The folks in the smaller villages would know what the brands meant, and they too would refuse him help, and might well kill him.

'Gods¼there's nowhere to go on this damned island, and no one to turn to,' he thought with a kind of despair, but then he resolutely forced these thoughts away. First, he had to get out of the mine¼then he could worry about where he'd go, and where he could hide until he could figure out a way to identify and stop the man who was molesting and murdering the island's children.

* * *

Hercules had scarcely moved from his position on the rail throughout a long day and what seemed an even longer night. He stared out across the dark sea toward Yiaros, as if by will alone, he could call up the wind and cause the distance to fly by faster. His face remained almost expressionless, but his eyes were haunted and his mind wouldn't rest. He kept reliving those moments at the crossroads, when he'd last seen Iolaus. They'd been laughing¼there'd been no sense of impending threat. It was a simple errand. How could this have happened? Why had it happened?

Hercules damned the Fates and Fortune in the silence of his mind. He could understand when they challenged him. He had long ago accepted that he was under sentence by the gods, or at least, some of them. But, he could never accept the disasters which befell Iolaus. It seemed to Hercules that his partner had to endure too much, as if he was being continually tested, his life at constant risk.

Herc knew he had a tendency to blame himself for the suffering Iolaus seemed doomed to endure, but Hercules also knew it wasn't always about him. Iolaus had had a hard life before he'd ever met Hercules and the pain of his friend's childhood and adolescence had only been relieved by their friendship. Hercules understood that he had been Iolaus' anchor, the foundation Iolaus had used to build himself a new life. Herc also understood that his mother had played an important part in Iolaus' life, helping his friend to understand he not only had worth, but that he was worth loving. Whenever Hercules thought about what his friend had endured over the years, he marveled that Iolaus had had the strength and character to be a compassionate and courageous man. A lesser man would not have survived at all.

Hercules shook his head and sighed. He just didn't understand why the Fates had put a dying stranger in their path, to draw Iolaus to Yiaros, just so that he could be condemned and enslaved. If his partner had been able to save the child, it might have made some sense, but the only purpose of this nightmare seemed to be to make Iolaus' life miserable, to make him suffer.

Herc's jaw tensed and he narrowed his eyes, fighting the anger and helplessness he felt. He didn't know anyone who deserved to suffer less than Iolaus. His partner was always putting others first, risking his life for the sake of a greater good. Damn the Fates! Iolaus deserved better than this! Gods, he sure didn't deserve to wear a brand that condemned him as a molester and murderer in the eyes of the world. It was no longer just about getting Iolaus out of the salt mine. Somehow his buddy would have to learn to live as a pariah, despised by all who did not know the brands were a lie. Herc shook his head in sorrow. He didn't know how to make this right, how to undo what had been done.

Jason watched the rigid form of his friend in the bow of the ship. He wished there was something he could say or do to make this time pass more easily for Hercules. He understood the frustration, and the sense of helplessness, when all they could do was wait until the ship carried them to Yiaros. Wait...and worry. Jason stretched stiff muscles, and continued to pace the decks, working off his own anxiety. Iolaus was strong, he'd survived worse. He'd be fine. It would only be a few more hours. Or so Jason told himself, over and over. His mind shied away from the reality of the brands that Iolaus now wore...they didn't bear thinking about. The time passed, slowly, agonizingly slowly, as the ship sheared through the rolling, eternal seas.

Locked into their own thoughts and emotions, Hercules and Jason did not note the odd intensity of the crew. They were doing all they could to catch the wind, and sail the ship as fast as she would go. They had learned to both like and respect Iolaus in the short time he had served with them, and they too were angry about what had been done to him. Aneas had asked for volunteers to go with him as an escort for Hercules and Jason when they went ashore, warning his men that this could well be hazardous duty. They had all volunteered, without hesitation, so that the final escort party had had to be selected by drawing lots. Aneas was proud of his crew as he watched the stars and the sea, waiting for the dawn.

* * *

Iolaus feigned continued unconsciousness as he inventoried his injuries and considered his options. He felt blood, from the wound along his ribs, trickle down his back. The bleeding was light, so he assumed it wasn't serious. Breathing, though, was increasingly difficult. He couldn't seem to take a deep breath, having to content himself with rapid, shallow gulps of air. The pounding in his head was worse, and his shoulder ached badly from the blow of the shovel at the beginning of the last fight. The good news was that nothing seemed to be broken. And that was very good news indeed. He'd never be able to climb up and over the mountain with a broken arm or leg.

He'd sought other escape options, but hadn't been able to come up with any. He listened to the night around him, heard the snores of the other convicts as one after another, they all succumbed to sleep. He listened for the night guards, as well. He'd learned they were slack, and were usually half asleep during their watches. Besides, they only guarded the trails leading from the mine to the valley below...no one ever considered someone would be crazy or desperate enough to test themselves against the sheer drops of the mountain cliffs.

Finally, he judged it was time to go. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his side, he rolled silently to his knees, then pushed himself up. Moving quietly, he stopped at the edge of the entrance to the cave, listening and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the modest light provided by the stars. A full moon would have helped him find his way, but it would also have made him more vulnerable to being seen. He'd just have to take his time. He slipped out of the cave, keeping close to the mountain wall, and began following the pathways up. He wished the guards left the tools out at night. The feel of a solid pick in his hands would be reassuring. But, they weren't that stupid. He was on his own, his wit, his skill and his strength his only weapons.

In less than half an hour, he reached the end of the beaten trail. It was time to climb. Carefully, he found finger and toe holds as he levered himself up and over a spur of stone, moving slowly, taking great care to remain as silent as possible. Whenever a pebble would work loose and fall, causing what seemed to him an unholy clatter, he would press himself against the rock wall, holding his breath until he was certain the guards had not been alerted and it was safe to move on. The pain stabbed in his side with each reach for a new handhold, and he needed to stop often to catch his breath, to fight off the dizziness caused by the pain and his other injuries. Finally, two hours of agony later, he hauled himself up and over the edge of the mountain onto a narrow plateau, where he laid for a moment catching his breath, and then he began to work his way gingerly down the far side.

The climb down seemed to go on forever. He clung to the steep cliffs as he made his way down, one hand and toehold at a time. His nails cracked, the tips of his fingers began to bleed from the abrasions caused by the sharp rock. Despite the cold, he was sweating, in part from exertion, but more because of the fever which seemed to be worsening. The sky was lightening, turning to a deep pearl gray as the stars disappeared and a golden glow began to spread in the east. It was taking too long. He had to get into the cover of the forest. Finally, he found himself on an easy slope, and he turned from the rockface, stumbling toward the forest a thousand yards away.

He didn't have any idea where he was going, he just knew he had to move in the direction opposite the main town, and he had to avoid villages. He needed to hole up somewhere, until he was stronger and could come up with a plan to smoke out the man guilty of molesting and murdering the island's children. Where he could, he traveled over rock, to leave little or no trace of his passing. He knew they would be following him as soon as dawn broke and they noted his absence. By then, he hoped to be sheltered deep in the forest below.

It took longer than he liked. He kept having to stop to catch his breath, and to lean forward, hands braced on his thighs until his head stopped spinning. He fought a sense of nausea every step of the way, either the old concussion was worse, or he had a whole new one. He suspected his fellow inmates had kicked his head and body repeatedly, after he had passed out. Iolaus didn't like the weakness he felt, and he wondered how much blood he had lost. He couldn't check the severity of the wound on his back along his ribs, but he believed it was only superficial. Water was his main concern. He needed to find a stream, or lake... spring...something...soon.

Fighting the sense of rising panic that made him want to move faster, he continued his slow, deliberate and careful passage down the slope of the mountain. Finally, with a sense of profound relief, just as the world was brightening with the dawn, he slipped under the cover of the forest. Water first, and then shelter, where he could hide and recover some of his strength. Scanning the area around his feet, he finally found what he sought...animal tracks. Sooner or later, they'd lead him to water.

Iolaus continued to take the time to cover his trail, doubling back and around, to make it difficult for trackers to follow him. He had no doubt that the alarm would be raised, and that townsfolk and villagers would soon join in the search for him. In their eyes, he was a evil molester and killer of children...they couldn't afford to leave him free. Allowing himself no illusions, Iolaus knew that if they found him, they'd kill him. As the light of day grew, he scanned the silent forest, and wondered how long he could hide out. Could he last the week or more before he figured Herc would come after him? He doubted it, but that was no reason to give up.

About two and a half hours later, on the far side of the island, deep in the forest, he found an old, abandoned and half-collapsed temple near a stream. Heaving a weary sigh, Iolaus stumbled to the stream, laid flat on his stomach to drink deeply, then half-crawled into the shelter of the temple, where he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. He'd spotted the worn friezes on the walls, of couples celebrating their love, and he knew who's temple this had been. For the first time since he'd arrived on this island, he felt somewhere familiar...and safe. Relaxing, he let his mind drift. He needed to rest...just for a while.

The temple might have appeared to be abandoned, and it had certainly seen better days, before much of the roof and part of one wall had collapsed and moss had begun to grow on the flagstones on the temple floor, but it was still served by an ancient, knarled priestess. Her thin gray hair was hidden under a shawl, and her worn and patched robe covered a body which was little more than crooked bones. She had served in this temple for as long as she could remember and she was not about to abandon the Goddess just because a wall, or the roof, had fallen down. The others who had served with her had long since either wandered off or died of old age, and she was alone now, with her memories, and her imagination. There were times when she was very frightened to be in such a lonely, remote place on the island, so far from other people, but she would calm herself with reassurances that the Goddess would watch over her.

When she'd first realized a man was nearby, having seen him stagger out of the forest to the stream, her heart had thudded in her chest, and her fear grabbed at her throat, making it hard to breathe. She'd only gotten a quick glance, but he'd looked disheveled, filthy, and he seemed streaked with blood. When she heard him stumble into the sanctuary, she had hidden behind the back wall until the silence within, and her own curiosity, drew her around the corner of the broken wall. She saw a man collapsed on his back, like a rag doll, on the flagstones. He was indeed covered in blood from innumerable gouges and scrapes, and even from a distance, she could tell his breathing didn't sound right. He was obviously hurt and needed help.

Gathering her courage around her like a cloak, she entered the temple on silent bare feet. The man did not seem to be aware of her. Once she was close enough, she could see he was unconscious. But, that close, she could also see the brands on his cheek and she gasped in horror. He must be some kind of monster! She needed help. She could not restrain him by herself, even if he was injured. Quietly, carefully, she backed away from the still form, then once she was clear of the sanctuary, she turned and ran toward the voices she had heard from time to time since a little after dawn, on the other side of the valley. She'd wondered what so many people had been doing, milling about and shouting as they searched the far side of the valley, and now she knew. They were hunting a monster...and she had found him.

* * *

Aneas had taken Jason and Hercules directly to the magistrate as soon as the ship had docked early in the afternoon. It would be best to acquire an escort of the Royal Guard to the mine. Regardless, the magistrate needed to know they were about to have Iolaus released so that they would not all be apprehended as criminals when they brought Iolaus back through the town on the way to the port.

At first, the magistrate refused to see them, claiming the demands of other duties, sending messages through a scribe that they would have to return another day. Hercules snorted impatiently, and gently but decisively moved the gabbling scribe aside, and pushed past the curtained doorway into the magistrate's office beyond, closely followed by Jason and Aneas, the protesting scribe trailing behind.

The magistrate, Nemeus, looked up with irritation when they barged into his presence. Sighing, he shook his head as he stood to confront them, waving them away with one hand. "I don't have time to see you, today," he stated, "so you'll have to make an appointment. Perhaps I can make time next week."

"Our business won't wait," Hercules advised him, speaking in a tight, seemingly calm voice which caused shivers to range up and down Jason's spine. He kept a close watch on his friend, worried that Hercules might well lose the control he held so rigidly over his anger and fear, worried that he might explode into violence in frustration with any barriers placed in their way. That tightly controlled calm voice was a clear indicator that Hercules was at the end of his patience. Hoping to diffuse the situation, Jason moved forward to stand beside Hercules.

"I am Jason, the former King of Corinth, and this is Hercules," Jason explained, noting the widening of the magistrate's eyes as he learned who had dared barge into his office. "I believe you already know Aneas, Captain of the Windspirit. We came as soon as we heard that our friend, Iolaus, had been falsely convicted of a crime which he could not possibly have committed."

The magistrate, having gathered his wits, interjected, "The evidence was quite clear...."

"The evidence was all circumstantial, and you know it!" Aneas intervened, angered once again by the prissy, supercilious manner of the bureaucrat.

Nemeus frowned at the sea captain, but then turned his attention back to Jason. He preferred to avoid looking at the demigod whose anger smoldered in his eyes. He doubted it would take much provocation for the legendary strength to be unleashed, and he didn't want to receive the brunt of that seething anger.

"The man has been convicted. I don't know why you are here, or what you think you might do..." he again tried to make them understand whatever they hoped to achieve was impossible. Their friend was lost to them.

Jason laid a cautionary hand on Herc's arm as he continued to explain their mission. "As I said, Iolaus would never have committed such a crime. Ttherefore, it means someone else is a threat to the children of this island. King Albion has authorized Hercules to take Iolaus into his custody, and to carry out an investigation to determine the true facts of what happened."

Nemeus stared at Jason for a moment while he thought about what the former king had told him. It was unbelievable that the King would condone off-islanders taking custody of a convicted molester and murderer, or that he would support them undertaking an investigation of his people. "I'm sorry, but until I receive instructions from the King, I cannot credit your story."

Hercules pulled the scroll of parchment from his shirt, unwound it and held it up in front of the magistrate's face. "Your King has provided me with this letter which clearly gives me the authority for these actions," he growled, fighting the urge to grab the magistrate by the scruff of his neck and shake him until his teeth rattled. They didn't have time for this bureaucratic bafflegab.

"But, that's impossible. Even if the warden and overseer approved his release, the people of the town would stone him on sight. The man is a monster who was lucky not to have been executed on the spot. Justice demands that he serve his sentence!" The magistrate could not believe they actually intended to take the prisoner from the mines.

Giving in to his frustration, Hercules grabbed the magistrate by the collar of his gown and drew the man's face close to his own. His eyes boring into those facing him, he grated, "Iolaus is _not_ a monster! He is a _hero_! He only came to this godsforsaken island to ease the spirit of a dying man. _Justice demands_ that his innocence be acknowledged and the guilty party identified. Now, you can either work with us, or you can watch as we deal with this situation." Hercules threw the man back against the wall, lightly, to be sure, but with evident disgust.

Nemeus was speechless. This was unprecedented. He had never been subjected to such insolence, nor had he ever been manhandled, and he didn't like it. The last thing he wanted was a full investigation by off islanders. The island's administrators had been condemning strangers to life servitude in the mines for generations. It was their source of cheap labour for the wretched toil required to wrest salt from the earth. He could not believe the King did not know full well how 'justice' worked on his island, so it was inconceivable he had condoned an outside investigation. But, then, perhaps the King had anticipated how his people would react. Narrowing his eyes, Nemeus couched his threat as a warning. "I tell you, this cannot be done! The people believe his guilt and will cut him down on sight. If you try to defend him, they will kill you as well."

"We'll take that chance," affirmed Jason, also disgusted with the machinations and resistance of the magistrate. While they debated concepts of guilt and justice, Iolaus was suffering in a salt mine. Jason also suspected that this was the man who had ordered Iolaus to be branded, but, however much he wanted to punish this man for his arrogance, stupidity and cruelty, he took care not to let Hercules sense his suspicions. Hercules would not be merciful to a man who had tortured and mutilated his best friend.

Hercules studied the man for a long moment. There was something in his eyes, a shiftiness. For some reason, the magistrate feared outside intervention. It reminded him of the look in King Albion's eyes, and though they intended to carry out an investigation, and find the man who had killed the child, King Albion had not actually given authority to him to do so. There was something going on here that didn't bear scrutiny, Hercules was certain of it. Well, they'd find out what it was in due course. The first priority was to free Iolaus. Holding the magistrate's eyes, Herc asked, "Aneas, do you know the way to this mine?"

"No, but, I'm sure we can find out. The magistrate is right about the people here, and about what they are likely to do, so official escort by the King's Guard would have been helpful, but it's not essential."

Jason, completely out of patience with the magistrate and his threats, said, "Fine, then...let's go."

They were turning to leave, the magistrate increasingly pale as he realized they would not be dissuaded. Aneas had warned him that he had made a mistake in condemning this last stranger. Who could have believed the man's friends actually included the likes of Hercules and Jason? This was getting completely out of hand, but he could think of no way to stop them, short of calling the guards and jailing them, but that would be in contravention of the King's letter.

Suddenly, there was more commotion in the anteroom beyond the curtain. The rich material was pushed aside and the warden of the mine stomped into the magistrate's office. He stopped when he saw that Nemeus was not alone, then shrugged, indifferent to the audience. "I thought you should know," he said to the magistrate, "the new inmate has escaped. The information has already gotten out and the town and villages are emptying as citizens form mobs to hunt him down. The townspeople and the villagers won't rest until they find him, and tear him apart."

"Are you talking about Iolaus?" Hercules demanded with a frown, his heart sinking.

"What's it to you?" demanded the warden, his tone belligerent.

"My name is Hercules," Herc responded, and ignoring the spark in the warden's eye at the sound of his name, he continued, "I have a letter from King Albion releasing Iolaus into my custody. So, if you are talking about Iolaus, I have a right to know what's happening."

The warden's eyes narrowed as he studied Hercules. "Let me see the letter."

Hercules handed the scroll to him, waiting while the man's eyes scanned its contents. When the warden looked up, Herc quirked an eyebrow, as much as to say, 'So, was it Iolaus who escaped?' and, when the warden nodded in response to the unspoken question, Hercules demanded, "When did he escape, and where is he likely to have headed?"

The warden sighed. Hercules. Son of Zeus. So much for figuring the scruffy stranger would never be missed. Finally, he nodded. "The prisoner climbed out of the mine, over the mountains, and down the cliffs on the other side during the night. He then headed down into the forests on the far side of the island. Beyond that, I don't know where he's hiding. I've guards out trying to track him but, at this point, it's likely the mob will find him first."

Jason snorted when he heard the guards were trying to track Iolaus. "If he doesn't want to be found, your guards will never find him." Looking up at Hercules, he continued, "The problem is, I'm not sure we can find him either."

There was a kind of rumble growing from outside, until it became a roar of sound. Word of Iolaus' escape was spreading through the town like wildfire. Angry, determined to punish him, and frightened, that he might harm another child, the mob was forming. Scores of men had already stormed away from the town, heading toward the far side of the island, and the forests there, to find the escaped convict. Hearing the mob, Hercules looked across the room at Jason. "We'd better find him, before they do."

Jason nodded. He and Aneas turned to leave the room. Hercules paused a moment, then moved around the magistrate's desk, taking him by the arm, and pulling him toward the door. As he passed the warden, he took a grip on his arm with his other hand. "I think the two of you had better come with us, and show us where to start looking." They wanted to pull away, refuse, but the look in the demigod's eyes, and the strength of his grip, suggested they might be wise to go along with his demands. He saw the acquiescence in their eyes and pushed them ahead of him out of the office, past the curtain into the anteroom beyond. The indignant scribe watched them go, his mouth agape.

Hercules was trying to hold his sense of dread and his anxiety under a tight rein. He was desperately afraid that the mob would find Iolaus first. He knew the warden was right...they'd tear Iolaus apart.

* * *

Iolaus wasn't doing well, not well at all. His injured side ached, both from the wound and the deeper injury of cracked ribs and bruised lung. The fever was leaving him feeling disoriented, and he was only semiconscious. Still, he could hear the growing murmur of voices, until he could make out individual shouts as they came closer. He knew he should go, that he should hide deep in the forest, and he tried to get up, using the broken alter to drag himself to his feet. But he only took a couple of steps before collapsing in a heap on the cold stone of the temple floor. Cursing his weakness, he fought his sense of confusion and disorientation, but even in his semiconscious state, he knew his hunters were almost upon him. If he didn't get away, he knew he'd die. So once again, he rolled over onto his knees to push himself up onto his feet.

Moments later, men burst into the sanctuary, shouting imprecations and graphically describing what they would do to the man the priestess had told them was within. The first ones into the ruined temple pulled him over onto his back, to confirm he was the escapee they sought. Iolaus felt the rough hands, and tried to push them away, as he fought his way back to full consciousness. His eyes opened to behold a mass of men and women surrounding him, shouting at him. There was no way past them, there were too many, and he no longer had the strength to fight. Each breath had to be dragged into lungs, which screamed in protest, and he had lost too much blood from the wound on his back and side to muster the energy for an effective resistance.

He felt hands grab him and drag him to his feet. He tried to resist the blows, tried to tell them he was innocent, but they wouldn't listen. He could taste the metallic presence of blood on his lips as he coughed, gasping for breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glint of sunlight on a blade which was slicing toward his throat. Desperate, he raised an arm to block the blow, and used his elbows to push back the men holding him from behind, shouting, "_Damn it! Would you listen to me! I didn't kill her! I didn't_...."

His shout was cut off by the manifestation of a furious vision in pink. "ENOUGH!" shouted Aphrodite. "In case you clods hadn't noticed, this is MY TEMPLE! I will not have a temple of love used as a battleground, and you will certainly **NOT** spill blood here! Who do you think you are, you cretins! I can make it so none of you ever know love again...any kind of love! How do you like them apples, huh? What do you say to that?"

Iolaus thought he'd never seen anything more magnificent. 'Dite was standing hands on hips, breasts heaving with fury, eyes blazing as she glared at them all, her face flushed with emotion. "Gods, 'Dite, you're gorgeous when you're mad," he murmured, more than a little bemused and half-hysterical at what was happening around him.

"Huh? What? Who said that?" she demanded, peering around the crowd, her outraged frown disappearing when her gaze landed on Iolaus. Surprised to see him, she exclaimed, "SWEETCHEEKS! What are you doing with these louts...oooh, you don't look so good! Having a bad day, sweetie?"

Iolaus cleared his throat and tried to shrug off the hands holding him prisoner. "You could say that...more like a bad week actually. 'Dite, they think I killed a child."

"Well, that's just stupid! You'd never do anything like that!" She frowned as she saw the brands on Iolaus' cheek, and the men crowded around him. The mob had been subdued momentarily by the unexpected appearance of the furious Goddess, but they were recovering as she calmed down, and remembering why they were here. They all started to shout at once at the Goddess, explaining to her that his man was evil and that they were going to punish him.

"NOT in my Temple!" she shouted back at them.

"Fine!" one of the men cried in response. "Then we'll take him outside!" With that, they grabbed Iolaus and started to drag him away. He twisted his neck around to shout imploringly at the Goddess, "'Dite! Can't you stop this?"

'Dite's face screwed up in dismay and she threw up her hands in helpless despair. "I can't, Sweetie...the rules! This is strictly a mortal affair, nothing to do with gods. I can't interfere, I wish I could. Maybe there's a way around the rules...tell me again what happened...."

Iolaus gazed back at the babbling Goddess with wide eyes, scarcely able to believe she would abandon him to this savagery. "'Dite!" he cried again, as they hauled him outside.

* * *

Hercules, Jason and the others had followed the warden to the back of the mountain, behind the mine, and they had found the meager traces Iolaus had left as he fled into the forest. "Where's the nearest water?" Hercules had demanded. They could spend hours trying to find his partner's trail but, Herc knew eventually Iolaus would have had to have found water, probably urgently. Slaving in a salt mine had to have left him dehydrated to begin with, and the climb down the mountainside would have exhausted him. So, forget the trail and go directly to the likely destination.

The warden considered the question for a moment, looking blindly at the forest, lost in thought. "The old temple," he finally muttered, pointing to the north, away from the mine and the town. He led the way into and through the forest. As they strode under the leafy canopy, Jason noted splashes of blood from time to time. He'd seen some on the rocks at the foot of the mountain as well. It was how the warden and his guards had known the direction Iolaus had taken. His eyes caught Herc's and he saw the awareness in them. Iolaus had been hurt badly enough to be bleeding. All they could cling to was the realization that he had still been able to walk so maybe the injuries weren't too severe. Nevertheless, they felt a growing sense of urgency, almost of desperation. They had to find him...quickly.

They'd been in the forest for more than an hour, heading toward the stream, when the sound of the mob, the yelling, 'Dite's voice pitched almost as a wail, and Iolaus' desperate pleas for them to listen, to stop, finally drew them directly to the temple. The sound of urgency in their friend's voice, and the horror in 'Dite's, had them running as fast as they could travel along a dim forest path. Hercules had not yet pulled Iolaus' sword from its scabbard, but Jason had his own sword in his hand. Aneas had pulled out a knife, as had the dozen sailors he had brought along as an escort, not trusting the King's guards, the warden or the magistrate to ensure their safety.

* * *

"Ohhh! Herc's gonna kill me!" 'Dite dithered, completely frustrated at being unable to intervene when she _knew_ Iolaus was in big trouble. Those guys looked like they planned to murder him. Snapping her fingers, she manifested herself outside the Temple and was horrified to see someone tying a rope around Iolaus' neck.

"Stop that!" she yelled at the crowd, hoping to diffuse their fury with reason. "We should talk about this! Tell me what's going on. Why do you want to do this?" But, they were beyond reason as their bloodlust drove them forward. Without resorting to her power, all she could do was delay the inevitable, she couldn't actually stop them.

One of the women whirled on the Goddess, almost hysterical in her desire for revenge and retribution. "He molested a little girl, and then he murdered her! Death is too good for him!"

"Ohhh! That's just ridiculous!" 'Dite snapped back. "Iolaus would never do such a thing. Really! You have to believe me! This isn't right, you have to stop!" 'Dite knew she was sounding ineffectual. The fact that no one was paying attention to her was a good clue. She wanted to wave her hands and stop all this, but she couldn't. She bit her lip, frowning in dismay. Damn the stupid rules. Still, much as she liked Iolaus, she wasn't about to defy Zeus to help him...but Hercules was going to be really upset if she didn't do _something_. She stamped her foot as she snarled at them, ordering them to stop what they were doing.

In response, one of the men called out to her, "You're the Goddess of Love, you have to believe the best in everyone, but this man is guilty! And we are going to make him pay!"

By now the rope had been tightened into a noose around Iolaus' throat. They'd already tied his hands behind his back. Angrily, he kept telling them he was innocent, that they had to listen to Aphrodite. She knew him...wouldn't they just listen. But, his words fell on deaf ears. One man backhanded him across the face, ordering him to "Shut up!".

Iolaus raised his eyes to Aphrodite. She was the only one who could stop this from happening. The question, the hope, shone clearly from his eyes, his brows half raised, his lips parted as if to speak, but no words were needed. She understood his question. Chewing on her lip, fists clenched, she looked away, as if it hurt to return his gaze. But, then, she looked back, the anguish clear on her face, and she shook her head. She didn't have the right to stop this.

With a tight nod, Iolaus schooled his expression to one of acceptance. He stopped struggling. All he had left now was his dignity. Fighting back, shouting his innocence, pleading for them to listen...none of that would help. They were determined to kill him, and he couldn't stop them. Aphrodite couldn't save him. It didn't matter that they were wrong, or that he was innocent. He was about to be executed.

Iolaus held Aphrodite's gaze, ignoring the activity and noise around him, refusing to acknowledge the mob. He stood with his back straight and his head high. He stood as a hero stands, confident, an oasis of calm silence in the midst of frenzied chaos. If he was going to die, he at least wanted his last moments to be spent looking at beauty, his last thoughts of his best friend. "'Dite," he called out, his voice clear and strong, "if you can do only one thing for me, take my body to Herc, and tell him...tell him he made my life worth living."

Aphrodite's eyes sparkled with tears, and one glistening drop traced its way down her cheek. She had one hand at her mouth, fingers pressing into her lips, as if she was trying to hold back a sob. Her other hand pressed against her stomach, as if what she was watching made her physically ill. When she heard his words, her face took on an expression of poignant sadness, and she nodded to let him know she would do as he asked.

Iolaus held her eyes as they dragged him under a tree and threw the rope up over a sturdy limb. He wondered if she really would give his body and the message to Herc, or whether it would be too difficult for her to admit to her brother that she had stood by and watched his best friend hang. A smile drifted across his face as he decided she would. 'Dite was no coward, nor did she lie. When Aphrodite saw that wisp of a smile, she could no longer restraint her sobs. Much as she wanted to look away, indeed, wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else, she understood that he needed her now, needed someone who loved him to be with him in these moments. And so she held his eyes with her own.

He could see the regret and helplessness in her eyes as they lifted him up as high as they could and pulled the rope tight, tying it off around the trunk of the tree. She knew his spirit would live forever in Elysium, and that she could see him there when she chose. He was just a mortal after all, and all mortals died. But, he had such fire, and such grace. He loved without boundaries or expectations, and he gave all he had to those he loved. The laughter, the whimsy, the courage and compassion all made the mortal world brighter, and when the spark of his life was extinguished, that world would be a darker place. 'Dite also understood how much Iolaus meant to her favourite brother, and she knew some part of Hercules would die with Iolaus.

Iolaus saw her tears spill onto her cheeks when they let him go, and he dropped, only to be caught and held by the rope which tightened around his throat, choking him, cutting off his breath.

He only had one option left. Determined to fight off death as long as possible, Iolaus drew upon what he had learned in the east. Finding his centre, his place of calm, he focused on rapidly slowing his heartbeat. Refusing to acknowledge the rope which was choking him, no longer hearing the taunts and jeers of the mob as they watched him die, he let his spirit find that place of tranquil silence, where time ceases to have meaning.

He took himself into a trance, which would allow him to last at least half an hour without breathing. After that, his lungs would gasp for air. If the noose was still around his neck at that point, he'd die. If they left his body swinging from the tree, thinking him dead, and Aphrodite cut him down, he might still survive this nightmare. But, if the mob took his body, he had no doubt they would tear it apart and burn it.

He let the fear go. It was all beyond his control. He focused on simply being, and let the pain, the regrets, and the sorrows all go....

Dimly, he heard her cry, "Iolaus!" in a voice of horrified despair, as the world darkened. Then, from very far away, he thought he heard Hercules, but he was sure it was only his mind, being kind, leaving him with a last memory of his best friend's voice as his awareness of life drifted away.

* * *

They thundered into the clearing, and stopped in horror at the sight that greeted them: Iolaus, limp and lifeless, arms tied behind his back, legs dangling in the air, head flopped forward so that his unruly curls covered his face, hanging by the neck from a tree not far from the ruined temple. Jason paled to a pasty white, and felt sick. "_By the Gods_," he whispered, not wanting to believe what was before his eyes.

Hercules felt as if he had been punched in the gut, frozen, unable to breathe, his friend's name a prayer on his lips, "_Iolaus_." This couldn't be happening, couldn't be real. His denial, and then his rage, burst forth as he screamed, "_NOOOOO_!"

At the sound of his cry, the mob turned and recognized the warden and the magistrate, but they did not know the armed and angry sailors, or the furious tall man who led them. They'd only a moment to take in the tableau, and then the demigod was plowing through their ranks towards the man they had just hung. Hercules yelled at them to get out of his way, and tossed anyone who tried to block him into the trees. When they tried to hold him back, he slapped them away like knats, blind to everything except his need to get to Iolaus as quickly as possible...to cut him down before it was too late. He pulled Iolaus' sword from its scabbard as he shoved his way through the crowd.

Hercules was incandescent in his rage and terror. Reaching Iolaus, with one motion, he looped one powerful arm around his friend's body to take the weight from his neck, and sliced the rope holding his partner in the air with a wide slash of Iolaus' sword. Dropping the sword, Herc snapped the ropes tying the warrior's wrists together while he supported Iolaus' body and hurriedly lowered his friend to the ground. Hercules tore at the noose around Iolaus' neck, pulling it loose, so that Iolaus could breathe. But he wasn't breathing..._gods, he wasn't breathing_.

Jason had dragged the warden, while Aneas hauled the magistrate along in Hercules' path, surrounded by the sailors from the Windspirit. They lashed out with their weapons when necessary, but their objective was not to kill the hysterical townspeople and villagers, but to protect Iolaus, and they formed a tight circle around Hercules and his unresponsive partner.

Desolate, certain his old friend was dead, Jason dropped onto his knees beside Iolaus, opposite Hercules, and gripped Iolaus' shoulder. He bit back a sob when he found his friend's body was still warm. With an odd detachment, Jason found himself noticing that Iolaus' face was a deathly white, not blue or black as were the faces of most victims of asphyxiation. They were only moments too late, only moments, but Iolaus would be gone forever. Jason sank back on his heels and brushed a shaking hand over his eyes.

Kneeling beside Iolaus, Hercules murmured to him, "C'mon, buddy, breathe...c'mon!" He hastily examined Iolaus' neck, first to see if it had been broken by the pull of the rope, and then to check for a pulse. He thought he felt one faint beat, but then, nothing. Frantic, Hercules shook Iolaus, then pounded once on his chest, but still there was no response. In desperation, Herc leaned over his friend, and blew air directly into his mouth, trying to stimulate the lungs to respond. "Dammit, Iolaus...you have to _breathe_..." he choked out, his voice breaking. Nothing.

Hercules wanted to scream, wanted to tear something apart...wanted Iolaus to wake him up and tell him this was all just a nightmare. With trembling hands, he touched his best friend's alabaster face, and flinched at the ugliness of the reddened, rough scars burned into his right cheek. The skin around the burns had contracted, creating an ugly, permanent grimace on Iolaus' face. Herc brushed blond curls back out of the dark, sightless eyes, desperate to find some spark of life in their depths, but all he saw was an endless emptiness. His fingers lightly touched the bruises which darkened his friend's face, before again finding their way back to Iolaus' throat. Herc swore under his breath at the sight of the rope burn there. Desperate, he felt again for a pulse...nothing...but...what? One beat...or had he just imagined it?

His vision blurred by the unshed tears filling his eyes, Hercules blinked furiously, his hands cupping Iolaus' face and head. His fingers found two hard lumps on his friend's skull, one at his temple and one on the back of his head, more evidence of how his best friend had been abused by these damned islanders.

"_Gods, what have they done to you_?" Herc choked out unconsciously, his voice little more than a whisper. He felt Jason's hand on his shoulder and he looked up, dazed and disoriented, unable to accept the evidence of his eyes and hands. "He...he isn't breathing, Jase...I can't get him to breathe...."

Jason didn't know what to say. He looked into the reddened, tearfilled eyes, and flinched at the depth of the pain he saw there. "I'm sorry, Hercules," was all he was able to murmur past the lump in his throat, as he wiped at the tears in his own eyes with the back of a hand. They'd been so close to saving him. They'd heard his voice as they'd raced through the forest. So damned close.

Stunned, Herc looked away from Jason, not wanting to read the truth in his eyes, not yet ready to accept Iolaus was lost. He saw 'Dite, and vaguely realized that she was crying. She couldn't look at him. She turned away, her hands over her face. He'd known she was there by the sound of her voice earlier. 'How could she have just stood there and watched them hang...?' but, his thoughts shied away from the memory of seeing Iolaus dangling from the tree. His lips trembling, he looked back down at his oldest and best friend, and rested a hand over his buddy's heart. With his other hand, he gently closed the staring eyes. Better. It looked like he was just sleeping. Except for the burns and bruises, he even looked peaceful.

Herc's body began to shiver, as if he was very cold, and he bit his lip to hold back the sobs building in his throat. They'd killed him. They'd taken Iolaus away from him. The one person in his world he had trusted without question, who had loved him unconditionally, who'd never asked anything of him. The one person who had always been there for him, who had been the foundation of his life for as long as he could remember. Gods, they'd _murdered_ him. He shuddered with the realization, a quiet moan on his lips. _Iolaus_. Gone.

The mob was angry. They'd been stunned at first, by the sudden appearance of the men racing to save their prisoner, and they'd been frightened by the way the tall muscular man had been able to brush them aside as if they didn't exist. But, they had no intention of letting the murderer escape. And, they'd kill anyone who tried to take him from them.

They had no idea of the rage they had unleashed within the demigod, no idea of how close they all were to death. But, watching Hercules closely, Jason knew. He murmured to the magistrate and the warden, "If you have any influence over these people, I suggest you use it to get them to disperse. We don't want to have to kill them."

The warden had closely observed the demigod's reactions, read the grief and anger, and understood the danger in his unnatural restraint. "Stand away," he called out to the crowd. "It's finished. You've killed him. We'll take charge of his body now. Go back to your homes."

His words were greeted by an inarticulate growl. The crowd pressed closer, and one man shouted, "You'd best all stand aside, we want to see that he's dead! We want to burn the monster's body!"

Hercules stood then and turned to face them, placing himself between Iolaus' body and the angry, bloodthirsty crowd. "Iolaus was _not_ a monster!" he yelled at them. "He was a courageous, honourable man, a _hero_! He risked his life everyday for other people. The only reason he was on this godsforsaken island was to fulfil a promise to a dying man, a man he didn't even know."

Hercules' eyes blazed with fury and grief, his voice was tight with his desperate attempt to retain control. "_He was my best friend...my brother...and you tortured him, and murdered him. If you want to see monsters, then look at yourselves_."

Herc's voice broke as he choked out his warning to them, "_I swear, if you touch him again, I'll kill you for what you have done_."

When the crowd's growl only increased in menace, Jason called out to them in desperation. In all honesty, Jason could care less about the lives of these people, but he cared very much about what the violence would mean to Hercules. If the demigod lost his control, there would be no way to stop him, and he'd grieve all the more for what he had done once the fury had passed. "Listen to him! He's Hercules!"

At the sound of the demigod's name, there were murmurs of surprise. Hoping to hold their attention, Jason continued, "Hercules and Iolaus have spent their lives fighting evil wherever they found it! Iolaus was Hercules' partner. He would never have hurt a child! You have murdered an innocent man...and the real monster is still out there somewhere!"

But, they were driven by their fear and their fury. They were not capable of listening or of rationale thought. All they knew was that they wanted to see the monster dead, and they wanted to tear his body apart. "Stand aside!" someone yelled, as a rock was heaved at them, hitting one of the sailors, causing him to cry out in surprise and pain. And, then, the air was filled with rock, as the mob began to stone them.

Hercules roared with rage, the final vestiges of his control slipping away.

* * *

"You have to let me go back!" Lisane yelled again. She stamped her foot, and shook her fist at the tall, dark god who loomed above her. Not the least bit intimidated by the scowl on Hades' face, she shouted, "They're killing him! I have to stop them! I promised him I'd be back!"

The God of the Underworld sighed and rolled his eyes. No one caused more trouble than Iolaus. What was it about that guy? Now he had a little girl ghost wanting to haunt him! Hades again tried to explain to the child, not bothering to hide the frustration in his voice, "You're _dead_. What happens on the other side no longer concerns you. What will happen, will happen."

Impatiently, he looked around for Celesta. She'd need to take the child to the Lethe, and have her drink of its waters. Clearly, Lisane would not settle to her new reality until her memories dimmed. What possessed the child to believe she could come and go as she pleased?

Persephone moved into his line of sight. He knew by the look on her face that she planned to involve herself in this debate. Of course, Hades reflected with increased irritation, she'd always been too concerned about what happened to the little blond twerp. Hades was completely fed up with the whole situation. He had too much work to do to waste time on this nonsense.

Persephone's beautiful eyes twinkled with amusement as she gave Hades a smile calculated to charm and calm him. Unconcerned about the thunderous expression on her husband's face, she looped an arm through his, and drew him a little aside. "Tell me the truth, my love," she cooed softly, "do you really want Iolaus here? Is it his time?"

Exasperated, Hades shook his head. If it was up to him, he'd grant the irritating mortal immortality...it would be easier than going through these crises every time he turned around. "No, I don't want him here," Hades snapped. "He'll be nothing but trouble, and Hercules will follow him and demand his release, and won't leave until I make some kind of deal with him. You know I don't have time for this!"

Persephone raised her brows, "Well, then, why don't you let Celesta and I take the child back for a few moments to try to settle this matter before it gets completely out of control?"

Hades hesitated. It was not appropriate to let the dead interfere with the lives of the living, whether for good or bad. Celesta floated forward, her serene face pensive. "He counselled Lisane to leave him, to leave the mortal plane, even knowing his freedom, even his own life, was at risk until the truth of what happened to her is revealed. He could have, instead, counselled her to reveal herself, to testify to his innocence, but he would not use her, even to save himself."

Celesta's voice was mild, but her message was clear. Hades owed Iolaus a soul. There was reason to intervene to save his life.

"What would you do?" Hades asked, with a heavy sigh, not really sure he wanted to know, or even that he cared.

But, Persephone just shook her head. "I don't know. We'll have to see what's possible when we get there."

Hades looked at the angry, impatient child. There'd been a lot of frightened children coming from that island in the past few years. Then, he looked at his harbringer of death, who gave him a slight, but definite nod. Finally, Hades looked down at his beloved wife. There wasn't much he wouldn't do to keep her happy.

"Alright," he said quietly, in a resigned tone, "but, you only have one hour, no more...then I expect her back, and well behaved!" He cast a threatening look at the child, who nodded eagerly to indicate that she'd be good once she was back. She bounced a little, impatient to be on their way.

Persephone smiled up at him. "Thank you! You're always such a dear!"

Hades gave her an ironic smile, knowing she was manipulating him, and not caring in the least. He leaned forward and gave her a soft kiss. "Don't be gone long," he murmured.

* * *

The warden and the magistrate tried to pull away, but Aneas held a knife on them, holding them in place. Unwilling to stand quietly and be stoned to death, the sailors were preparing to charge the crowd. They were well armed, and trained in combat. They could make short work of unskilled villagers and tradesmen. Jason shouted to the crowd to stop before they were hurt, but the hard rain continued to beat down upon them.

Hercules, his face tight with anger, had strode into the crowd to take the man who had called Iolaus a monster, the first man to throw a stone, by the scruff of his neck, and after giving him a good shake, Hercules tossed him aside. The people closest to Hercules began to back away, afraid of his strength and the palpable rage which emanated from him, but others kept up the barrage of stones.

When Hercules moved from his position between Iolaus' body and the crowd, Aphrodite had moved to position herself over Iolaus' body, to protect him from the bruising stones. Jason saw her project a kind of aura which caused the rocks which came near her to bounce away, thereby also keeping Iolaus from being hit. He was surprised at her concern for his friend's body, and touched by it.

Aneas had just opened his mouth, to order his sailors into battle, when the words were stopped in his throat by the image which shimmered before him...between them and the crowd.

"_Stop it_!" Lisane screamed furiously at the mob, "_Stop it! Iolaus never hurt me! He tried to save me_!"

An utter shocked silence descended upon the clearing. The townspeople recognized the specter of Lisane, as did many of the villagers, and they were terrified, afraid her ghost had come for them, afraid they were somehow damned. They weren't sure who the beautiful women beside her were, but they knew they weren't mortal.

Hercules didn't recognize the child, but he knew Persephone and Celesta. Moving back, to stand next to Aphrodite, over Iolaus' body, his eyes locked on the angel of death, he shook his head. "You can't have him."

Celesta felt compassion for the demigod. She could see the torment in his eyes. Smiling softly, she shook her head, "I have not come for Iolaus, Hercules."

Hercules shuddered at these words, believing that Thanatos had already taken Iolaus' soul before they'd even arrived in the clearing. "Then I'll go to the Other Side and get him back!" the desperate demigod snapped.

Persephone intervened then. Half raising a calming hand, she explained, "Hercules, you don't understand. Iolaus is not dead."

"What?" gasped Jason, as he looked swiftly down again at the still, white figure at their feet.

"_Not dead_?" whispered Hercules, looking from Celesta to Persephone. A slow smile came over 'Dite's face...she'd been sure she had not seen his spirit leave his body.

"He's in a kind of trance," Persephone explained to reassure them.

Hope lit in Herc's eyes, and he took a tremulous breath as he looked down at Iolaus and then back at Persephone. "But, he's not breathing... I couldn't find a pulse."

"Have faith, Hercules, Iolaus is a man of many talents...and even more surprises," Persephone said with a smile, then turned to face the mob. "I am Persephone, and this is Celesta." The crowd gasped and many fell back in terror, certain now that they were damned and were about to be taken to the Other Side. Others were confused, and overwhelmed. Hercules, a known and revered hero, was ready to attack them. The man they believed they had hung was said to still live. Goddesses were among them, and the spirit of a child they knew to be dead was confronting them in anger.

"Lisane would not rest until she stopped your unjust persecution of Iolaus," Persephone continued. "He is innocent of the crimes for which you have condemned him. In her name, I order you to cease your actions against him, and allow Hercules and Jason to care for him. You need to think about what you have done. You have very nearly murdered an innocent man, and your souls may have to pay for this crime."

"If he didn't do it, then, who did?" One woman called out to Lisane, her voice twisted with loss and despair. The woman's own daughter had disappeared two years before. Everyone knew she must be dead, but her body had never been found.

Lisane looked around the crowd, but she didn't see the man who had abused and murdered her. She turned to look at Persephone, and her eye was caught by the men standing behind her, near Hercules and Iolaus. "He's the one! He hurt me, and he killed me!" she shouted, as she pointed.

It wasn't clear who she meant at first. The warden stammered, "I didn't..." but his words were cut off when the magistrate grabbed Aneas' knife, then moved to use the captain as a shield, the knife against his throat. "Stand back!" he yelled, as he tried to pull Aneas backwards, hoping to escape into the woods behind him.

"There's nowhere to run, Nemeus," Jason advised him, his voice calm so that the magistrate would not panic and kill Aneas. "Give up. It's over."

Hercules was watching the man closely, waiting for the slightest opening to move in and disarm him. But, his actions were forestalled when Persephone spoke. "You have done much harm, Nemeus, and you have sentenced others to pay for your crimes. Their blood, as well as the blood of the children, is on your head. You will pay for their lives on the Other Side. Jason is right, it is over."

As she finished speaking, Celesta began to float toward Nemeus, only to disappear. The terrified man looked around wildly, wondering where she had gone, and shrieked in horror when he felt a coldness at the back of his neck and heard her whisper in his ear. "Looking for me, Nemeus? Is it time? Are you ready to come with me?"

Nemeus spun away, screaming inarticulately in his fear, denying her claim to his soul, but his terror was too much for his heart. He gasped and choked, his fingers clawing at his chest, and then he pitched forward to lay unmoving at the angel's feet. Celesta cast a wide-eyed innocent look at Persephone, as if to disclaim any responsibility for the fiend's death, then she winked as she shrugged and disappeared. She had a soul to escort to Tarturus.

Lisane murmured, "He killed so many children on the island. He was an evil man. I'm glad he can't hurt anyone anymore."

Persephone touched the child reassuringly on the shoulder, as she looked out at the crowd. "You have condemned many innocent men because you refused to see the facts before you, refused to believe the monster could be someone you knew. It took a stranger to try to save the life of one of your children, to bring this to an end, to force justice to prevail. Because of his courage, and compassion, this child would not rest until you knew the truth."

The silence of the clearing was broken by a soft moan, as Iolaus struggled back to consciousness. Suddenly, Iolaus gasped, his chest heaving as he hauled in great gulps of air, only to cough and choke as his injured lungs and raw throat protested.

Hercules knelt quickly by his side, and raised his partner's head and shoulders, supporting him with one strong arm. "Easy, buddy," he murmured. "You're going to be alright." But he frowned in concern when he saw the flecks of blood on Iolaus' lips.

"Herc?" whispered Iolaus, unable to speak louder given the damage done by the rope, blinking against the glare of the sun. He couldn't believe Hercules was really there, and wondered if he was hallucinating.

"I'm here, Iolaus," Hercules assured him, and smiled a bit tremulously into the bright, blue eyes, which finally focused and gazed up into his own. He took a waterskin from Aneas and held it to his friend's cracked and dry lips. Iolaus raised one hand to tilt the skin as he drank thirstily. Gods, he was dehydrated, and his throat was raw. Finally, with a sigh, he pushed the skin away.

Lisane pulled away from Persephone, and moved past the others to kneel at Iolaus' side. She reached out to touch him, but it seemed as if her hand just passed through him. He felt the familiar cold, and turned his head to find its source. "Lisane! What are you doing here?" he cried in a breathless murmur, afraid for her, unaware of what had transpired while he had been enthralled by the trance. "You shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous for you!"

"It's alright, Iolaus, Persephone brought me." She giggled at the surprised look on her friend's face. "Besides, I _told_ you I'd be back. I wouldn't stop shouting at Hades, and I kept stamping my foot, and I could see he was getting tired of it. He finally let me come back to stop them from killing you." She leaned forward then, and concluded in a conspiratorial whisper, "To be honest, I don't think Hades wants you on the Other Side!"

Iolaus' eyes sparkled as he pictured the diminutive spirit/sprite yelling at Hades, ordering him about. It was a delightful image. Smiling softly up at the child, he whispered, "Thanks, little one. I'm just sorry I couldn't save you."

"You tried, though," the child's spirit whispered back, "and, you were kind to me, telling me not to be afraid, that Celesta was nice, that Hades would be kind...and that I'd make new friends there. You did everything you could for me. I couldn't let them hurt you. It was wrong! I had to tell them who did hurt me, and so many other kids."

Iolaus frowned at this, not understanding. His gaze flicked up to Hercules. "Who?"

Herc grimaced. "The magistrate. Celesta has already taken his soul to Tarturus."

The magistrate? Gods...no wonder so many innocent men had been so speedily convicted.

Iolaus' eyes flicked to the stricken crowd, standing in terrified awe of the ghost of the child, and the Goddess who stood behind her. Looking back up at the child, Iolaus said soberly, "Well, my brave Lisane, you sure stopped the mob in its tracks and, by pointing out who was really guilty, you've saved other kids from being hurt." Iolaus paused a moment to swallow and ease his sore throat. "You're a good kid, Lisane... really special. But," he sighed, tired, "you have to go back now. It's too dangerous to stay here."

Lisane grinned mischievously at him. "Still trying to save me, Iolaus?" she whispered. Then, her smile faded, and sadness filled her eyes, as she reached out to touch his ravaged cheek. "But, they did hurt you... I cried...but I couldn't stop them."

Iolaus flinched, his eyes slipping away from her gaze. He didn't know how to tell her it was all right, because it wasn't. Those scars changed his life. They made him a pariah.

But, she wasn't expecting him to answer. She looked up and around at the assembly of mortals and goddesses. Her eyes held those of Aphrodite for a moment, as she murmured quietly, "Whenever I was hurt, my Mommy used to kiss it better. She said love can heal anything, if you believe it can."

When 'Dite nodded slowly, Lisane smiled, then turned back to Iolaus. "I love you," she said softly, "and I'm going to kiss it better!" Swiftly, she bent down and touched her lips to his cheek.

Iolaus felt the cold as it seeped through his cheek and seemed to touch his heart, and then his whole being felt warmed, as if enfolded in love. He heard Hercules gasp, and he looked up to see tears glistening in his partner's eyes. "What?" he whispered.

"They're gone," Hercules murmured back past the lump, which had formed in his throat, his trembling fingers brushing Iolaus' now unblemished cheek. "The brands... they're gone."

The demigod turned to the small spirit kneeling beside his friend. "Thank you," he murmured softly, his eyes saying more than words could ever express. The child grinned up at him, then looked back down at Iolaus. When her eyes broke away from his, Herc looked up into his sister's gaze, and she read his gratitude in the expression on his face. She just smiled and gave him a soft nod. It was the least she could do, given she hadn't been able to stop the mob from hanging his best friend. The child's love had given her the rationale and means to intervene.

Iolaus felt tears in his own eyes as he turned his gaze to the child. He trembled with his gratitude, shaken to the core of his being by her gift of love. "Lisane, I don't know how to thank you. You...you don't know what this means...."

She just smiled at him, her eyes never leaving his face, as if she was trying to memorize his features until, suddenly, she just vanished from sight. Iolaus looked about wildly, to try to find her again, but he only saw Persephone begin to fade as well.

"What happened? Where is she? Is she alright?" he choked out, frustrated at the thin whisper that was his voice.

"It's alright, Iolaus. She can rest now, her soul is free," Persephone replied. And then the Goddess, too, was gone.

'Dite sniffed, then sniffed again, as she gingerly brushed the tears from her lashes, so as not to ruin her makeup. "Gosh, wasn't she the sweetest little thing!"

Hercules, remembering his sister had stood by while the mob had hung Iolaus, glared up at her. Notwithstanding his understanding that she had helped the healing of Iolaus' cheek, he still wanted to blast her for not intervening to save his friend's life.

Seeing the look, knowing she was about to be yelled at, she trilled, "Ooohhh! Look at the time! I didn't expect to be here all afternoon! Gotta go! See ya, Sweetcheeks. I guess you can give your message to him yourself! Smile, bro, he's fine!" and then, she was outta there!

"Aphrodite!" Hercules yelled, not happy with her disappearing act.

Iolaus, understanding why Hercules was angry, raised a placating hand to pat his friend's shoulder. "It's okay, Herc. It was the rules. She couldn't help. She tried to reason with them, distract them. Aphrodite did what she could."

Hercules cast an exasperated look down at this partner. "Don't you start defending their stupid rules! Those rules almost got you killed!"

"Nah, _they_ almost killed me, not the rules," Iolaus replied hoarsely, as he turned his eyes to the crowd. They all looked ashamed, and embarrassed, as if they wished they could disappear as easily as had the goddesses.

One woman finally stood forward. "We're sorry," she mumbled, knowing it was inadequate.

Iolaus gazed at her for a long moment, then let his eyes travel over the crowd, resting his gaze on those who had dragged him from the temple, the men who had beaten him, and those who had put the noose around his neck and left him hanging at the end of the rope. "_Promise me_," he rasped, "_promise_ you won't ever forget what you've done, not just to me, but to the others this island condemned for crimes they never committed. Those men _did_ die. Just don't ever forget to make sure someone is guilty beyond any doubt _before_ you condemn them." Iolaus swallowed hard, and grimaced with the discomfort of speaking.

The people flinched at his words, but most nodded, then they all started to drift away. "Others?" queried Jason with a puzzled frown.

"Yeah," Iolaus whispered feeling chilled by the truth, "at least six others were convicted of the same crimes and were killed by the other prisoners. They had to have known, at some level...they had to have realized they were convicting innocent men." Iolaus turned his gaze on the warden, forcing himself to keep talking, to finish this. "You knew, didn't you, that none us were guilty. How many others in your mine are guilty of no crime other than of being strangers here?"

The warden couldn't hold his gaze. Looking away, he shrugged uncomfortably. "I didn't condemn them," he rationalized. But, then the rope still dangling from the tree over Iolaus' head caught his eyes. "Too many," he finally admitted, in response to Iolaus' question. "I'll sort it out..." he committed, then he, too, turned to walk away.

Jason was staring at Iolaus, almost giddy with joy that his friend was alive,but not understanding how Iolaus had survived. "Gods, Iolaus, how did you do that...stop breathing? We were sure you were dead."

Iolaus felt Herc's grip tighten reflexively in response to Jason's words, and he looked quickly from Jason to Hercules, who looked away, blinking, his jaw tight and his throat working as he forced himself to swallow.

"Sorry," Iolaus grated, his voice increasingly raw and raspy. "I didn't mean to scare you...I didn't know you were so close. When I was in the east, I learned how to slow my heartbeat and breathing. It's a trick to prolong life when you're running out of air. It was the only thing left that I could do. I thought if 'Dite took my body, and the crowd left, I might actually survive...."

Herc nodded as he gazed down at his friend. "It was a good idea, and a good trick." Herc looked away, wondering how to express how he'd felt, and gave up, saying only, "Next time you're not breathing, I'll have to remember it's only a trance." Hercules' eyes were alight with relief and a deep, abiding happiness, but Iolaus could still feel the tremble of reaction in Herc's hands.

Iolaus gave him a tired grin. "Let's hope," he croaked, "I won't ever need to do this again!" Looking away from the emotion in his friend's eyes, Iolaus' glance landed on the Windspirit's Captain. "Aneas, you brought Herc and Jason, didn't you?"

Aneas nodded. "You're one of my crew, lad. I wasn't just going to sail away and forget you!"

Iolaus smiled gratefully at the sturdy, blustering sea captain. His voice fading, he said, "Thanks, Aneas. If you hadn't've believed in me, and if you hadn't've brought help, I would've died today. I owe you one."

"Nay, lad, you don't owe anyone anything. It's time we got you back to the ship and took you home."

In complete agreement, Hercules helped Iolaus to his feet, and watched to see if he could stay upright on his own. Iolaus leaned on him for support, but was determined to make it back to the ship on his own two feet. It was only about ten miles. Looking past Iolaus' shoulder, Hercules caught an appalled and anguished look on Jason's face as he stared at Iolaus' back. When Hercules had gripped Iolaus' vest, to lend him support, he'd rucked it up enough for Jason to see a crisscrossing of ugly wounds. Frowning, Herc took a half step back to find out what had brought that look to Jason's face. Just under the edge Iolaus' vest, Hercules could see the half healed, oozing cuts left by the whip. Herc lifted the vest higher, and his breath caught at the damage. Iolaus had flinched when Hercules had moved the vest, the slight action having pulled at wounds that had stuck to the lining of his garment.

"It's alright," Iolaus murmured, his eyes cast down, "it'll heal." Uncomfortable with the attention, wanting nothing more than to get off the island, Iolaus pulled away from Hercules, and took his first unsteady steps back toward the coast. Hercules and Jason exchanged grim looks, but neither said anything as Herc hastened to lend Iolaus support and they all headed down the long valley. Iolaus managed a couple of miles before his feet started to drag, and then he stumbled.

Hercules tightened his grip on his partner, wanting to pick him up. It cost him nothing to carry Iolaus, but it cost Iolaus his dignity. Herc respected his partner's desire to make it as far as he could on his own. "Do you want to rest a bit, Iolaus? There's no hurry."

Iolaus looked up in gratitude. "Yeah, I could use a break," he murmured, and let Hercules help him to a rock where he could sit and catch his breath. Iolaus took the waterskin Aneas offered him gratefully. He couldn't seem to get enough to drink.

"This is just stupid," Jason growled, impatience mingling with concern as he glared at Iolaus.

Hercules shook his head in warning, but Jason wasn't about to be put off. "Well, it _is_ stupid, and you know it!" he stated firmly to Hercules before turning his gaze back to Iolaus. He'd taken note of the different injuries which were visible, or indicated by Iolaus' behaviour, like the coughing, the flecks of blood on his lips, his favouring of one side, and the way he would frown in pain, or reach up to rub the back of his head. "Let's see, you appear to have been beaten up more than once, you probably have a concussion and a few broken ribs, you're coughing up blood, you've been stabbed, albeit superficially, in the back, whipped repeatedly, and half starved. You're dangerously dehydrated. You've been hung by the neck until you were almost dead. Not surprisingly, you can hardly stand. You're using up any energy you have, when it should be conserved to help you heal. But, will you let anyone help you? Oh no! You're the brave, stalwart and stubborn Iolaus! You have to do it all by yourself...walk back on your own two feet, even if it kills you. Well, it's stupid!"

At first, Aneas had been shocked by Jason's words and tone, but he agreed with his old friend, and his aggressive nods, which punctuated each of Jason's observations, made that abundantly clear. The sailors turned aside to hide their grins. They thought it was stupid, too and it meant they all had to travel more slowly than would be necessary if Iolaus would accept help. While they'd never have said anything themselves, it amused them to hear one hero chew out another. Hercules just worked very hard at keeping his face straight, fixing his eyes on a distant tree so that he wouldn't accidentally look at either Jason or Iolaus.

When Jason stopped speaking, there was a long silence while Iolaus glared back at him. "What?" Jason demanded sarcastically. "Did I miss one of the more important injuries or wounds? I know I didn't mention the endurance tests: being branded, survival in a salt mine, the climb up and over the mountain in the dark, holding your breath for half an hour...."

Iolaus snorted. "I'm fine, I'm just a little tired. And I'm _not_ stupid!" A strangled sound from Hercules caught his attention. "Are you laughing?" Iolaus demanded, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Hercules swallowed hard and shook his head, not trusting his voice, but his treacherous lips twitched, giving him away.

"You _are_ laughing! So, you agree with Jason? You think I'm stupid?"

Herc schooled his expression as he looked away. " 'Just a little tired' seems something of an understatement," Herc sighed. "Besides, Jason didn't say you were stupid, he said what you're doing is stupid." Herc looked back at Iolaus, and had to grin. "You know damned well that if he was in your condition, and insisted upon walking on his own, you'd flatten him rather than put up with the nonsense. But, then, Jason always did have more patience than you."

Jason started to snicker then. "Good idea, Hercules, maybe I should just 'flatten him'!"

"Hey! I've been beaten up enough lately, thank you very much! And if you try, I'll knock you into next week," Iolaus threatened back, more than half annoyed, and very irked by the realization that threats made in a raspy murmur lack a certain credibility. He preferred to ignore injuries and wounds, act like they weren't really there. He couldn't stand feeling weak or unable to take care of himself. It was bad enough in front of Hercules, even though he trusted Herc with his life, and, if they were alone, he might have allowed himself to let go. But, he hated looking vulnerable in front of other people, even Jason...and especially virtual strangers, like Aneas and his sailors.

Hercules cleared his throat, very aware of his buddy's irritation and desire to have his injuries ignored, but also worried about the toll the walk back to the ship was taking on his friend. Maybe a little gentle humour would ease the tension. "Umm, actually, I'm not sure you _could_ knock Jason into next week. You can hardly stand up."

Iolaus glared up at his so-called best friend. "Traitor! You're supposed to be on my side!"

Herc looked down at his indignant friend and, unwilling to get caught in a pointless argument, shook his head. "You promised me you wouldn't get into any trouble. You promised you'd be good...dull and boring, even...that you wouldn't fight any monsters or get beat up by some girl's relatives or friends, and look at you. Exactly how long did it take for you to get into trouble?"

"Less than a day, but it wasn't my fault! And, besides, you're just trying to change the subject. Jason threatened to flatten me and you'd just stand there and let him!" Iolaus blustered.

Hercules grinned. "Oh, I know he wouldn't really hurt you. He knows you'd just get even when you can stand up without falling down. On the other hand, I know you're going to fall over in another half hour or so." Hercules shrugged, feigning unconcern, "I'll just wait until you pass out, like I usually do."

Iolaus glared at Hercules, but couldn't sustain the indignation. They were right, he was being stupid and stubborn, but he couldn't help it. He had to be half dead before he'd let Herc carry him or, better still, completely dead...and he was a long way from that state. Unable to resist the twinkle in Herc's eyes, Iolaus started to snicker, and then he was laughing, only to groan and hold his side. "Oww! Don't make me laugh!" he gasped, his voice a strangled whisper.

Hercules regarded him with fond exasperation. "You know, Iolaus, I don't think you should be trying to talk." Holding out a hand toward his friend, he continued, "C'mon, buddy, let's go. The quicker we get you back to the ship, the sooner we can take care of those wounds. Your ribs need to be wrapped, that wound on your side needs to be cleaned up, and your back could use some attention. Enough malingering. Time to move."

Iolaus gave a mock groan, but reached up to take the hand Herc extended to support him onto his feet. "Slave driver," he muttered.

"Hey, I'd be happy to take the load off your feet!" Hercules replied good-naturedly.

"Shut up," ordered Iolaus cheerfully as they started up again, following the trail down through the hills towards the coast.

Hercules and Jason exchanged looks, and Herc cast a glance at the sky. "Half a hand span," he said, quietly.

Jason gazed at Iolaus as he considered Herc's words. "Less. A third of a hand span," he replied.

"You're on," Herc said. Iolaus was trying to pretend he wasn't listening, but his indignant snort gave him away.

Catching Aneas' puzzled look, Jason explained, "It's a bet on when Iolaus will collapse...you want in?"

"What do you wager?" enquired the amused Captain.

"The losers buy the winner dinner," Jason elaborated.

Aneas nodded, and cast a speculative look at Iolaus. "Well, I don't know him as well as the two of you do, but he seems pretty stubborn. I'd give him three quarters of a handspan."

Iolaus grinned at that, but didn't say anything. He was saving his breath for the long march. He knew they were just teasing him because they were relieved he was all right and he knew he wouldn't make it all the way to the ship under his own steam. But, he'd decided Aneas deserved to win the bet. He'd teach his friends to laugh at him, and make jokes about when he was going to pass out! Trying not to giggle, 'cause it hurt his side, he leaned on Herc and kept walking.

* * *

Iolaus endured for another hour, stopped, winked at Aneas, gave Herc and Jason a cheeky grin, and then fell over, trusting Herc to catch him before he actually hit the ground. He awoke hours later on the ship, wrapped snugly in a blanket on the bunk in Aneas' personal quarters. He could tell his ribs had been bound because breathing was a whole lot easier. A single candle burned on the captain's tiny desk, and he could hear the creak of the ship, and the snap of the sails as she made her way through the rolling seas. He looked around and spotted Hercules staring out of the porthole, looking up at the stars.

"Hey," Iolaus whispered, his throat still sore.

Hercules looked away from the sky, and gazed warmly down at this friend. He smiled as he dropped down to squat by the side of the cot. Pulling at the blankets, making sure Iolaus was well covered, he said, "So, you decided to wake up. Want anything to eat, or drink?"

"Water would be good," Iolaus rasped, wondering how long it would be until his voice was back to normal.

Hercules reached for a flask, then supported Iolaus' head as he held the flask to his friend's lips. When Iolaus had had enough, Herc lowered his head back down to the bunk. "How're you feeling?" he asked quietly.

"Been better...been worse. I'll be fine," Iolaus muttered. He looked away, thinking about what had happened. "I heard you, in the clearing. I...I thought that this time, I was a goner. When I heard your voice, I thought I was imagining it, that my mind just wouldn't accept I was dying. I couldn't really believe you were there."

Hercules looked away, remembering those terrible moments when he'd believed Iolaus had died. Shaking off the horror, he rested a hand lightly on Iolaus' shoulder, drawing his friend's eyes back to his own. "It's over, Iolaus...you're okay."

Iolaus nodded, then raised a hand to touch his cheek, verifying the brands were really gone. "I never saw my face after...."

Herc's jaw clenched for a moment. He would never forget what the brands had looked like, how they had mutilated Iolaus' face. He pushed the memory away and responded lightly, "It was a new look for you but, I have to say, they didn't suit your style. I'm glad they're gone."

Iolaus replied quietly. "You and me both! That Lisane was a really special kid. Gods, Herc, I wish I could have saved her life. I wish she'd never had to suffer like that."

"You did what you could," Hercules said quietly, then shifted to sit with his back against the bunk as he continued softly, "'Dite said something about you giving me your message yourself?"

Iolaus cleared his throat. "Uh, yeah, well, you know, I wasn't sure I'd see you again...so, I asked her to take my body to you and to tell you...well you know...that you made my life worthwhile...."

Iolaus' voice was scarcely more than a whisper, and he avoided looking at Hercules as he explained, but his hand somehow found its way to rest on Herc's shoulder.

"Oh," Herc said, but his lips curled into a half smile. What did you say to that? Iolaus already knew Herc felt the same way about him. But, his hand reached up and closed over Iolaus'. Their friendship didn't need the words to be spoken. A look, a touch, just being there...said what needed to be said.

Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, the sound of the waves against the hull the only sound in the tiny cabin. Herc's thoughts went back over the last few days, and he still felt anger when he thought about how the Fates and Fortune used Iolaus. He said softly, musingly, "You know, when we were bringing Tomas' body to Naphthlion, I wondered why the Fates had chosen that lonely road as the place to end his life. And, after Jason told me what had happened to you, I was angry, that you had to suffer like that." Hercules paused a moment, then finished. "But, I guess it was because you needed to be in Yiaros to try to help Lisane, so she'd want to help you by identifying the real murderer. Gods, Iolaus, I wish the Fates wouldn't set you up like that."

Hercules looked back over his shoulder at Iolaus, and saw his friend had fallen asleep. Sighing, he stood and again gazed out at the stars. "I mean it. Choose someone else once in a while," he murmured to the Fates. "You've hurt him enough."

* * *

Still half-awake, Iolaus heard his best friend's words, but he didn't respond. Herc might think the Fates demanded too much of him, but, Iolaus knew it was worth it. It was always worth it, if a single child could be saved the horror of abuse, and could be given the chance to live long enough to have children of their own. As he drifted to sleep, he was glad he'd been able to help, even if only in a small way, to ensure that particular monster would never hurt another child.

_Iolaus felt as if he was looking through a window, or down a long tunnel. Gradually, the scene in front of him became clearer, and he saw Lisane smiling at him, and waving. Then, she turned and skipped away toward other children, across fields bright with flowers. Iolaus recognized the fields...Elysium...and the other, well loved, kids. He smiled sadly. She deserved a hero's rest. She'd risked eternity for him, she'd risked her soul_.

* * *

In a distant cave, three old women continued to weave the tapestries of life, and of death. But, even the Fates did not always know exactly what would happen. They crafted situations, and possibilities. It had been convoluted and awkward to weave Iolaus' golden thread into the lines of Tomas, and then into the lives of those on Yiaros. But they had decided it was time to end the evil on that small island. Truthfully, they had expected Iolaus to end it, but they'd not foreseen that his light would capture the loyalty of child, so that she would defy death to save his life. Once they had snipped a thread, they did not expect the soul that thread represented to have further impacts on the world of living mortals. What had transpired had been a surprise, not unprecedented, perhaps, but rare nonetheless.

No, they didn't always know how the future would work out. But, they had learned to rely upon the golden thread. For them, the thread was coming to represent more than a mortal. It represented strength and resilience, honour and courage and the golden thread seemed able to lend strength to the threads it was woven against.

Clotho smiled to herself as she fingered the hidden spool of bits of golden thread she had spun in secret. She was certain they would continue to need it to make the tapestry beautiful, and she'd have the extra threads ready for the time when her sisters realized the golden thread needed to be strengthened, or lengthened.

Finis


End file.
